Had We Met Before
by VHawke
Summary: What if Sebastian really HAD met Hawke before being sent to the Chantry? And at the Blooming Rose, no less. Things are different when they meet again, but once they're together, their history is difficult to ignore. Fun and drama ensues. F!Hawke/Sebastian
1. A New Home?

The rain fell heavy outside the Blooming Rose. The sun had long set behind Sundermount, and this night marked the first rain of spring, which Kirkwall desperately needed. Bursting through the brothel doors the first of its patrons stumbled, a red tint to their cheeks with the prospect of the night ahead. The cold in the air was disappearing fast, and with it, the stench that had been accumulating throughout Lowtown during the slushy, snowy months. Winter was gone, and the streets of the red lantern district were glowing beneath the misted lights.

The night hours offered Kirkwall a unique solace, be it at the Hanged Man, the Blooming Rose, or in any dark alley its citizens were willing to brave. The warming air seemed to rouse all manner of shady activity, in every corner of the city. From the smugglers and mercenaries in the undercity to the bored and restless nobles of Hightown, the people were stirring. They were all adrift in a sea of temptation, ready and eager to forget their troubles and see to their desires.

The buzzing crowd in the streets below was nearly drowned out by the sound of raindrops splattering against her window, and Mara Hawke let out the hundredth sigh that night.

"I look like a whore."

Looking herself up and down again in the mirror, she shifted uncomfortably in her extravagant "evening" attire. Her dark hair fell in loose curls, resting lightly across her exposed shoulders and falling down to the center of her back. It was soft to the touch, but smelled strongly of rich oils and perfumes. Beneath her slender neck the line of her corset rested far too low for her comfort, revealing more of her cleavage than she ever would have allowed. Intricate designs of ivory lace hugged around her curvy figure, and a green skirt fell in asymmetrical waves high upon the light skin of her legs. The green shades of her outfit matched her eyes, a choice specifically made by her younger sibling.

The fingers adjusting the decorative waist clasps at her side gave pause, and Bethany cleared her throat softly. "I don't mean to be blunt, sister, but… isn't that the point?"

Mara cast her a sharp look that spoke volumes of her discomfort. Turning back to the mirror, she double-checked and secured each garment in place, again and again. In addition to her revealing outfit, she was adorned head to toe in fine golden accessories, from the jeweled barrette in her hair to the buckles on her heeled shoes. Yes indeed, she was the finest looking whore in the whorehouse.

She sighed again. "I know, I'm sorry. I just…" Her eyes drifted away from her reflection to stare at the rain outside her window. It was opened slightly to welcome the fresh breeze. "I'm a little nervous…"

The weight of the statement hung in the air like a thick fog. Neither sibling could deny the building tension at the night ahead of them. It would be the first night of many. Mara felt small, delicate hands clasp gently around hers. The skin was pale in comparison, but warm and loving all the same.

"I know this must be very hard for you…" Bethany's eyes shimmered in the vivid candlelight. "Maker, you've never even-"

"Yes, well… Let us not dwell on what cannot be undone." Mara closed her eyes and swallowed thickly. There would be a time for this – for regret and self-pity – but it was not now. Right now she needed to focus on the present, on her family. She gave her sister's hands a squeeze and put on a reassuring smile. "Just promise me you'll stay safe. Stay out of trouble and do as you're told. We won't give anyone the pleasure of seeing us fail – not _this_ place, not Athenril, and _certainly_ not Uncle Gamlen," she added dryly. "At least here I don't have to bear his company."

Bethany giggled, but the smile did not reach her eyes as she looked down at their joined hands, blankly staring at the jewelry and lace. "…You're not fooling anyone, you know."

Mara let her hands drop to her sides, a light grin still plastered on her face. "Not wanting this will do little to change it, Bethany."

"Either one of us could have taken this job." She lifted her gaze, her delicate brow furrowed over her light brown eyes. "_I_ could be standing there, all…dolled up, instead of you."

"But you're not. You only just turned eighteen this winter," her stern voice reminded her. "It was either the smugglers or this place, and Athenril only needed _one_. I made this choice to save your dignity."

"At the cost of your own!" Bethany's voice cracked with the tears that began welling up in her eyes, but she tore her gaze away before they could fall. Just as she always did when she was upset or nervous, she clutched at the red bandana around her neck and began twisting at the fabric.

The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on both their minds, and an uncomfortable minute passed before either of them spoke again. The rain would have worked to calm their frantic nerves, like it used to do in Lothering, but the faded voices and distant laughter of the unfamiliar brothel, in an unfamiliar city, kept them both rooted in their new reality. The painful memory of recent events still stung like an open wound. When Bethany lifted her gaze again, they shared a knowing look. They had to be strong.

A shudder shook her frame, but Bethany's voice was resolute when she spoke again. "I promise you, I won't let you down. I will stay safe, and take care of mother." Enveloping her older sister in a crushing hug, she whispered softly, "Thank you. The Maker may not have always been kind to our family, especially as of late… But magic or not, I am undoubtedly _blessed_ to have you as my sister."

At this, Mara could not help but smile, genuinely, for the first time that night as she returned the loving embrace. "Thank you, Bethany." She kissed the top of her head, mindful of the sharp edges of her sister's staff, and pulled back to look into her doe-like eyes. "Stay out of sight near all these templar's, you hear me? It's hard enough without thinking about you getting dragged off to the gallows…"

"Yes, I know." The young mage put her hands on her hips. "You can trust me not to be a _complete_ half-wit."

"Can I?" she grinned. Her response earned her a playful smack. "Hey, hey, hey," Mara gently waived away the assailing limb. "Don't you have…things to smuggle?"

Bethany stole a glance out the window. A moment passed before she nodded. "Yes, I think it's late enough to head down to the docks now."

Mara followed her sister's gaze outside, for a quiet moment, before her eyes wandered back in to scan the _tastefully_ decorated suite that would be her new home. It would take some time to get used to. Everything would. Again she frowned at her bust line in the mirror and made another attempt to adjust it. She paused when she felt her sister's eyes on her.

"You look beautiful." Bethany teased lightly. Her reflection cast her a sympathetic smile.

Mara scoffed, but for once could find no words.

"…Take care sister." Bethany's voice was strained as she turned quickly and quietly disappeared out the door, her wavy black hair blowing gently behind her.

"You too, Bethany," Mara's soft voice called out.

The moments that followed were surreal. Mara let out the breath she didn't even realize she had been holding and closed her eyes, attempting to reconnect with herself, with the moment. Her room, her clothes, the smells and sounds here were all so…different. Unwelcome. Hopefully this year would go by as quickly as the last three days had gone. When she opened her eyes again, a small part of her dared to hope she would be back in Ferelden, that this was all just a bad dream, or a terribly elaborate prank. She looked back at her reflection with a wry smile.

'_I shouldn't press my luck.' _

The knowledge that she would inevitably see her mother and sister, albeit sporadically, throughout the year was a little comforting. Lowtown was only a short walk from here. Her family was close. …But in that moment, they had never felt so far away. A thought crossed her mind, and she briefly imagined what sort of heated reaction Carver would have had to these conditions, had he been here with them. She could see him now, crossing his arms and throwing her the infamous scowl of disapproval before beating the first man to pass a glance at her. He may have been brash, and resentful, but he was a good boy, always trying to protect their family.  
>The smile that had made its way onto her face was short-lived, and it took every ounce of her strength to keep the tears at bay. Her younger brother's death had taken its toll on all three of them. And losing their home, everything she had ever known…<p>

With a shaky breath she straightened herself and faced the mirror. Her only option was to move forward, use what avenues fate had given them so that they could survive – _together_. Kirkwall was far from the saving grace that they thought it would be; but it was better than nothing. This was what they had to work with now. This would pay their debts into a new life. For one year, she belonged to the Blooming Rose. …And after that?

A piercing voice from the lower level hollered up the stairs, calling out her name. Mara Hawke hastily gave herself another check in the mirror and forced a smile on her painted lips. Seducing a man certainly couldn't be harder than cutting down darkspawn.

* * *

><p>The rain was falling steadily throughout the city, but doing nothing to dampen the jovial air felt throughout. The Hanged Man was alive and restless as always, it's usual customers bustling in to drown away their stresses in ale and cheap wenches. The old tavern was a local favorite for many in Kirkwall, and tonight the rain-soaked citizens sang and danced together in drunken merriment. The cheery atmosphere, however, was doing nothing for the sorry man who was currently an object of seething and unprovoked hatred.<p>

"…I think yer scaring that poor fellow."

Sebastian blinked once and released the death grip on his mug, realizing that he had been glaring daggers out at nothing. …Coincidentally, "nothing" happened to be a drunken loner in the corner who was just short of wetting himself in fear. Shaking his head, Sebastian turned his attention back to his half-empty pint, of which his friend Kristof took immediate notice.

"Oy, what's with ye?" Kristof gave the brooding man a nudge to the shoulder. "Ye've barely touched yer dram!" Pausing to stare down at his own, his eyes widened. "…Ye think it's _poisoned_?"

"I think you're daft." Sebastian finally shifted his gaze, a small smile lighting his bright blue eyes. "Either that or you're already drunk."

Kristof shrugged. "It certainly tastes like poison. Then again, I doubt an _obvious_ poison would make an _effective_ poison, eh?" He gave a hearty guffaw and smacked their other comrade, Brannon, roughly on his back to wake him up.

"It looks like you may be right," Sebastian peered over at their inebriated friend. "It's a good thing I've barely had any."

Kristof leaned forward to point a finger at Sebastian. "All joking aside, lad, I'm still tryin' to figure out is what's got yer loins in a bunch. It's our first night out and yer actin' like a homesick tit."

Sebastian sighed and pushed his drink aside. It wasn't even working anyway. He dragged a hand over his face, wishing his aggravation had not been so…unusually obvious. Sneaking a glance at his friend, he found expectancy and a genuine confusion that furrowed his hefty brow. Even if Sebastian wanted to lie about it, he doubted he could go through with it.

"It's my father," he muttered under his breath.

Kristof raised his brow and ducked low to lean in closer. "What about him? I'll admit he's been a bit…aloof, and this city isn't really the _grandest_ of holiday retreats... But this is a grace, it is!"

"A grace," Sebastian repeated with a chuckle. "How exactly does a washed up old city that smells like aged underclothes constitute a grace?"

Kristof leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, keeping his voice quiet. "I suppose ye _enjoy_ dry political meetings every other day? Because that's all we're missin' back in Starkhaven."

Sebastian scoffed. "First of all, you know as well as I do that the noble's meetings are held _half_ as much as the ones_ I_ have to attend as a son of the Prince."

"And _ye_ know as well as I that ye spend more nights in Starkhaven's brothels than in yer own bed!" Kristof laughed boisterously, his whispers growing louder. "I doubt ye've even attended more than _three_ this past year."

Sebastian frowned in concentration and held up the fingers on his left hand to count out some imaginary number before turning to stare at his friend.

"Nope."

They both laughed loudly and Sebastian finally relented, lifting his mug in a clattering toast before finishing off their rounds and ordering more. The three cloaked foreigners trilled their "r's" and spoke in clipped accents that few of the other men could place, but Kirkwall was home to many, even the Qunari now, so no one paid them any mind. 'Discretion' had, after all, been his father's single request of them.

"My point _was_," he continued, "I feel like this whole thing was rather sudden. Three days ago my father barely knew I existed. This _city_ barely existed. And now I'm spending some chance, weeklong retreat here with him while he visits the Grand Cleric?" He paused to look his friend straight in the eye. "Not to mention the fact that he can't _stand_ either of you, yet he allowed me to bring you along. It just doesn't make any sense."

"It does seem odd…" Kristof nodded. "Maybe your da's involved in a _scandalous_ love affair." He waggled his eyebrows to drive home the implication.

"Right. My father brought us here as a cover for his lusty affair with the _Grand Cleric_." Sebastian pointed him with a look as if to say, _'You are a dumbass.'_

Kristof simply nodded, wide-eyed, as though it were painfully obvious.

He remembered now, why he never looked for logical comfort from his friends. "Doesn't that sound a _little_ blasphemous?"

Kristof doubled over, his charade defeated. "Says the reverent son! Wasn't it ye who ended up passed out at the statue of Andraste, exclaimin' she would have been a 'good lay'?"

Sebastian snorted and stared down into his mug to hide his amusement from the few pairs of wide eyes now looking their way. If there was _one_ thing his father had been right about, it was the need for 'discretion.' The Prince of Starkhaven had used the word with a knowing look when they arrived; and it summarized a multitude of details from incidents past. While a part of Sebastian simply wanted to ignore the old man, as usual, another part of him actually found a unique thrill in keeping his identity a secret.

Usually these outings were more extravagant – fancy parties, spring salons, noble balls. The appearance of royalty often earned all kinds of attention from foreign nobles, as well as eager mothers who wanted to use their daughters as footholds into royal bloodlines. Not that he minded; Sebastian rather liked all the attention. But this time his family was a secret, and his _brothers_ were not here. It was just he and his friends – strangers without a title. Nobody knew him. The whole experience suddenly felt so freeing… It was almost like a challenge.

Sebastian abruptly stood, snatching up his drink and downing the rest before slamming it onto the table. "Gentlemen, let's go have some fun."

"Oy!" Kristof cheered, finishing off his own drink and hauling Brannon to his feet. "_There's_ the Sebastian I know and love! I overheard a pair of brutes earlier, made mention of a nice brothel in the wealthier part of town…"

"Well what are we waiting for?" Sebastian smiled wickedly then.

The three men paid handsomely for their drinks before leaving, blending right in with the rowdy drunkards walking in and out, and left in search of more _promising_ ventures.

They were sorely disappointed.

"…"

"This…is the worst brothel I have ever seen."

Try as he might, Sebastian could not hide his amusement as they once again eyed the woman with the bowl-cut trying her hardest to woo every man who entered the building.

"It's not _so_ bad… I think she likes you. She keeps looking over here."

Kristof gave an indignant snort. "I wouldn't ride that one into _battle_!" He shot Sebastian a nasty glare. "Keep that up and I'll tell all these lovelies that the _Prince of Starkhaven_ has a penchant for orgies with as many lonely and ugly whores he can get his hands on…"

"All right, all right," Sebastian grinned, leaning back to admire Brannon's catch of the evening.

"…Do ye think we should tell him it's a man?" Kristof whispered.

"In the morning. When he's sober."

The duo laughed loudly, the effects of several rounds of alcohol finally settling into their systems. They were dressed simply, but from the fine details on their clothing still appeared wealthier than most of the other men. Many of the girls had tried their hands on the two, but Sebastian was pickier than he let on. Being well versed in the trade, he preferred to sample his choices before making any commitments. And so, they remained for some time, drinking, laughing and getting eyefuls of legs and cleavage. Feeling a nudge at his side, Sebastian noticed Kristof was suddenly standing.

"Now how did _this one_ elude my sight?" he asked quietly before interrupting the path of a young, flustered-looking girl.

She huffed quietly. "Excuse me Messer." She didn't even bother to lift her eyes from the ground.

With an incessant smile, Kristof sidestepped her when she moved to walk past him. The girl was cute, Sebastian admitted, but the scene unfolding was far more distracting than her looks. He eyed her staff and sparing choice of attire with a raised brow and a knowing grin that Kristof blatantly ignored.

"Beggin' the pardon, miss," Kristof smoothly began, reaching down and taking her petite hand in his. "But your beauty drew my eyes away the moment you walked in the room. What might it take to get your attention?"

She blinked once and snatched her hand away, as if his touch had burned her. With wide, angry brown eyes, she looked at the both of them, hesitantly scanning the crowd with a mixture of pity and disgust. When her wild gaze came back to Kristof, she all but curled her lip at him. Her voice was low and soft when she spoke.

"I _don't_ work here."

She lightly shoved past him, not even so much as a glance in his direction as she stormed out of the brothel. The look of rejection on Kristof's face was almost painful, if it weren't overwhelmed with shock.

Sebastian simply grinned at his friend. "At least you got her attention."

The humor didn't seem to help the sour turn of the night. Eventually Kristof drank himself into thinking that 'bowl-cut girl' was the cutest thing he had ever seen, and when he dragged himself up and away with her, Sebastian swore he would never let him live it down. Suddenly alone, he surveyed the situation with growing disillusionment.

Kristof was right. This brothel was not doing much to impress. At this rate he'd probably have to drink himself into a regretful decision just like his friends had done. It was a shame it took him so long to get that drunk. Maybe he should just go back to the tavern…

"Seen anything you like young man?" The sultry voice of the brothel proprietor tore him from his thoughts. She swooped her hand out over the ladies still gracefully parading around the room, a look of pride on her weathered face. "Your friends have left you all alone, and surely in need of some _company_."

A trademark smirk spread over his lips. "I thank you for the offer… But with so many _lovely_ decisions, I find it difficult to make up my mind."

"As charming as you are handsome," she purred, "I appreciate a man who knows what he wants…" The older woman brushed her hands over his shoulders, a thoughtful look on her face. "Actually, I have a brand new girl – a Ferelden, if you fancy them – who might pique your curiosity…"

Sebastian tried not to look bored as he studied the faces around the room. Ferelden, Orlesian, Antivan… Ugly was ugly. It was difficult to get his hopes up after so much disappointment. Tavern it was. Before he could respond, however, her shrill voice cut him off.

"_Hawke_! Get down here girl, you've guests to see to!"

He winced as he stood, his ears ringing. "Really, it's no trouble," he assured her. "I think I'll just…" The smooth pair of legs descending the stairs caught his eye, and he craned his neck out of curiosity. As his eyes slowly traveled up her thighs and over her outfit – stopping briefly at her cleavage – Sebastian suddenly found himself breathless as he met eyes with the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. "…stay."

"I'm sorry Madam Lucine, I was just changing-"

"Never mind that, girl," the older woman motioned towards where Sebastian was seated. "Mind your manners and greet your _guest_," she snipped.

Looking a combination of panicked and irritated, the girl gathered herself and put on a smile. Now facing him fully, she bowed politely and seductively, revealing much to his hungry eyes.

"I beg your pardon, Messer. My name is Hawke." She looked up to meet his gaze. "Would you like some company this evening?"

Sebastian parted his lips to speak, but for once in his life could find no words. Truly, it seemed, there was merit in patience. The girl looked young, no more than twenty, with a fire in her captivating green eyes that had long since died out in the other women. There was an intensity in her gaze, which he met eagerly as he took in every detail of her appearance as best he could. She was certainly the catch of the evening; and he did not give the thought a moment of hesitation.

A greedy smirk danced across his lips as he gently took her hand and placed a light kiss upon her knuckles. It seemed tonight would be a good night after all. With his free hand he swatted a gesture to remove the unwanted company. When the proprietor left in a huff, his newfound companion giggled, the mirth lighting her eyes and drawing him in further. This girl was mesmerizing.

"If it would please you," he began, standing to close the distance between them, "I would _very_ much enjoy an evening in your company." He bowed his head courteously, his playful smirk never faltering.

She held his gaze even as he towered over her. His voice was soft and his deceptively chivalrous words spoke volumes of his intentions and desires, but not nearly as much as the lust reflecting in his blue eyes.

"Might I also say that you have a beautiful name, Lady Hawke. It is as lovely as it is foreign to my ears." He leaned closer. "And I have an _insatiable_ fascination in the unique and exotic." His eyes followed hers as they fell to stare at his lips, as if entranced with every syllable he spoke.

"As do I…" she whispered. At the sound of her own voice, however, she blinked and looked up, shaking her head to hide the blush that had risen to her cheeks. "I'm sorry… May I be so bold as to ask where you are from? I have never heard such a…_lovely_ accent before."

"I come from a place far north of here…" He accentuated his syllables on purpose, pleased to have already found her weakness. "But it is of little consequence. Had I known I'd find myself in such beautiful company, I'd have traveled _much_ sooner."

Her blush deepened, and she sent him a very heated gaze. "Then I suppose that makes _me_ the lucky one," she leaned in to him, "I'll be sure to make this a night you'll _never_ forget, should your travels take you elsewhere."

Her glittering green eyes were treacherous, drawing him in, leaving him breathless and wanting more. Suddenly wary of conversation, he pulled her tight against his chest. "I'll hold you to that," he breathed, their faces mere inches apart.

She parted her lips, ever so teasingly, and took his hand. "Let's go somewhere more _cozy_, then…" She eyed the stairs and he eagerly followed as she pulled him along, the sway of her hips taking a firm hold of his gaze.

Before either of them knew it, they were alone.

* * *

><p>'<em>Andraste's blood, what am I doing?'<em>

Her back was turned, but behind her an audible thump on the bed told her everything she needed to know. Her fingers gently slid over the lock on her door to give them some privacy, her eyes wide with panic as realization slowly began setting in. It turned out seducing a man was a _lot_ easier than fighting darkspawn. …It was simply the results and expectations that had her frozen where she stood. Taking as long as possible, she clicked the latch into place, effectively sealing herself in her room with a lust-driven stranger…with a lovely accent.

She had to hand it to the guy – he certainly knew how to _woo_ a lady when he wanted to. Probably out of practice, she mused. It took a moment for the cold, hard truth to sink in: This was _just_ a one_-_night thing and this man was _just_ a stranger who wanted nothing more than to use her body for his own selfish desires. She swallowed thickly, the taste of shame a bitter sensation. All his talk downstairs had nearly melted her into a gooey puddle. It was so strange, having to remind herself that he didn't _actually_ care. …None of them would.

Fortunately for her, at least, she could always look on the bright side when things were glum. This guy looked closer to her age than the other men she had seen drifting around downstairs. _And_ he was attractive. When they first met eyes she had already attempted to steel herself against any and all forms of false flattery; but each time he placed a fresh kiss on her hands, each time his intense, crystal blue eyes peered into hers, it was all she could take to keep from swooning at his feet. Yes, if she chose to look at this optimistically, her first customer could have been _much_ uglier. The tanned skin, broad shoulders, and soft auburn hair... His lips on her hands, soft and warm... Maker, and that voice…

_'To the void with my wandering mind!'_ she mentally slapped herself. Her palms were sweating and her breaths were coming in short, eratic bursts through her lungs. She tried to stay calm. Sex didn't sound so bad… Maybe if she just let him take the lead, she wouldn't seem so awkwardly inexperienced. Torn from her thoughts by a pair of large hands on her upper arms, Hawke squeaked in surprise when she felt his breath on her ear.

"It's a dangerous thing," he whispered, his brogue thicker and deeper, "What a woman like you can do to a man." His hands slid with a painful slowness up to her neck, tilting her head to the side to give him better access. "Don't keep me waiting..."

Hawke's eyes went wide when she felt his lips on the nape of her neck, a heat she had never truly known pooling between her legs when his tongue shot out to taste her skin. A deep guttural moan erupted from his chest as he drank her in, biting lightly at her flesh and earning an audible gasp from her. She had to bite her lip to stifle the whimper that threatened to escape. The things he was doing to her body were…unbelievable; mind numbing… but also battling fiercely with the anxiety boiling beneath her calm exterior.

His fingers reached effortlessly around her front, his arms keeping her backside flush against his chest and waist. Working with quick expertise, he untied and unfastened each carefully placed obstacle to his desire. The top of her corset fell open, and while one hand slowly slid down to press against her lower belly, the other found its way around one of her breasts.

Her breath hitched, her body unmoving as his skilled hands fondled and explored her greedily, hungrily. He worked with the precision of a master, but with the intensity of a starved man, his mouth and fingers wandering over every square inch of her exposed skin. As his hands slid up and onto her shoulders, they gave pause; and his lips soon followed.

It took a moment for her clouded mind to understand why he had stopped, she herself oblivious to the answer at first.  
>...She was shaking.<p>

She felt him pull away to study her profile, but still the only sign of her discomfort was in the slight trembling of her shoulders. Cursing her body, she spun around to quickly cover her blunder, one arm absent-mindedly reaching to shield the part of her exposed chest.

"Is… Is something wrong?" She forced her eyes to meet his and smiled devilishly, a poor attempt after her second fumble. "You didn't have to stop."

He took a step back, staring her down while she felt like a doe caught in the hunt. Beneath his scrutinizing gaze, her eyes shifted elsewhere, but she could still see him. His eyes focused in and around her, his brow working itself in knots as he crossed his arms and shifted his weight onto one leg. His gaze was piercing, as if searching his clouded mind for answers. After a moment, she met his eyes when his brow quirked with realization.

"You're a virgin."

"I…" Hawke tried searching for words, but despite her quick tongue, she was a horrible liar. "…Balls."

She blew it.

Inhaling deeply, she closed her eyes. Instead of breaking down into tears, like she might have done on a bad day, her shoulders slumped and her head fell back in defeat. Surprising even herself, she let out a very long, exasperated sigh.

"Andraste's ass, I make a terrible whore."

"...Pardon?" she heard him laugh.

Still making a half-assed attempt to save her dignity, she drew her arms around herself and peaked at him through a half-lidded glare, letting out an exhausted chuckle. "Well I'm glad _one_ of us thinks this if funny."

Arms still crossed, he smirked and shook his head. He seemed momentarily taken aback. "You could've fooled me with that _display_ down there."

"Apparently I _did_ fool you," she countered with a smirk of her own. She hung her head with a sigh. "Cute _and_ a sense of humor, and I still messed it up," she mused wistfully to herself.

"Shame on _me_ being fooled then. Perhaps I have had a bit much too much to drink..." He paused and then pinned her with an unreadable gaze. "I fail to see, though, how you've messed anything up. The night is still young."

She cast him a pointed look. "Stolen the hearts and bodies of many virgins before? Or should I just credit your persistence as one of your stronger assets?"

"…Both, I think." He strolled slowly towards her. "I know what I want. And I can be _very_ persistent to see that I get it." Grinning wickedly, he tenderly stroked the side of her face, but she was determined not to swoon over a man with such a swollen ego, no matter how cute he was.

"That's very sweet. In this case, however, you'll find you are _paying_ for services, of which I am obligated to perform." She simply stared at him. "I, personally, am offering you nothing."

"No matter. Seeing as how I've _paid_ for the entire night, I'll have plenty of time to think of all kinds of _services_ for you to perform." He was behind her again, pulling gently on the arms hiding her body from view. "Come now, don't be shy…" he ushered lightly. "By the end of the night you'll be well-versed in the art, I promise you."

Regarding him with wary eyes over her shoulder, she watched as he began to slowly peel away at the excessive garments still clinging to her body. He was either drunk and hid it well, or he was as pig-headed and persistent as she thought. Probably a combination of the two. She bit her lip, hard, to keep from saying anything else to ruin the evening. Maker knows she can never keep her mouth shut; and this time there was a lot more at stake than her pride. She fought to stifle her moan when his gentle fingers massaged her bare neck and shoulders. Her legs were melting into liquid pools beneath her. And she hated it.

She hated having to choose. She hated having to keep quiet and accept her "role." She hated that she couldn't just…fall in love on her own, share this experience with someone special. A stubborn fury was building within her, one that she could not satisfy. What's worse was her body was certainly not denying itself the delight and satisfaction of each curious new sensation wrought by his lips and fingers. This stranger was doing things to her body that no man had ever done before; and he was _very_ good at it. From her peripherals she watched him, drowning out the war in her mind with details of his handsome features, and a curious thought…

What if they had met under different circumstances?

'One night,' she reminded herself. Never had a moment been so bittersweet. She felt his hands wander further, felt his firm need against her backside. Who was she to deny him? He was, after all, her customer. This would be her life now.

Slowly, her reluctant hands found their way behind her, grasping onto his neck. Releasing more than inhibitions, a small piece of her seemed to break – like the first fracture on a pane of pressured glass. Without any further hesitation, she leaned her head back to allow him better access to her neck, a small whimper escaping her throat.

Her acceptance spurred him into action as his hands greedily swept over her exposed chest. Humming low in his chest, he bit and nipped along her jaw line, traveling down her slender neck. His movements were quick and precise, his fingers working at a level of dexterity worth noting. His gentle, yet demanding ministrations soon had her breathing heavy again, all thought and awareness slowly evaporating amidst the clouds of desire that now hung thickly in the room.

Biting her lip did little to hush the cries that fell from her mouth, and in one swift motion she was stripped of her remaining clothing and hoisted up onto her bed. Breathing, touching, teasing, he sent her quickly into a state of sheer bliss. All else forgotten, she could only lose herself in the ecstasy.

He himself was not far off, the effects of alcohol and lust fueling his sex-driven mind into relishing every sound, feel, and taste of her. She would not be the first to lose her innocence to him, but this girl was already burning a place in his memory – as foggy and hazy as it was in its current state. Everything suddenly seemed so fuzzy… When exactly had _that_ happened? Part of him, somewhere in the back of Sebastian's mind wished he had been sober to enjoy this, because it was all happening so fast. Neither was ready when he suddenly found himself pressed against her moistened entrance. …But it was her soft voice that tore him from his ravenous onslaught, a delicate plea that called forth a tenderness in him he had never known to exist.

"Wait…"

He opened his eyes and looked down at her, her cheeks flushed and her hair tousled from their exertions. Alight with a newfound uncertainty and fear, her emerald eyes pierced his soul and begged to him, an unspoken wish. Their labored breathing and slick bodies were mere details, all fading away in his mind. Looking into her eyes, Sebastian almost forgot how to breathe.

"…Be gentle," she whispered. A request, honest and pure, from one so…beautiful… He briefly wondered what a goddess like her was even doing in a place like this.

The darkness in his eyes was overcome with a hesitance and understanding, feelings both foreign and frightening to him, and it shook him to his very core. His mind was still processing while his body continued to act. Slowly, he pushed inside her, his voice a gentle murmur against her temple…

"I promise."

The feeling of completion, of wholeness, was beyond comprehension. Perhaps it really was all the alcohol, but Sebastian would never know. As he broke past the barriers of her innocence he felt her tremble, and he was vaguely aware of the single tear that slid down her cheek, of the slow nod of her head to continue. His body screamed for release, but his mind kept their pace and moved in accordance with her wishes. Every languid roll of their hips sent him spiraling into absolution, satisfying an ache in her that she would come to know.

Their pace quickened with her urging, and he clung to her, mindful of her comfort and of her pleasure as their bodies became one. Finding a rhythm that caused them both to cry out in abandon, he squeezed his eyes shut and thrust inside her one final time, every nerve and every pore afire with his release.

Waves of completion were followed only by waves of exhaustion. Fatigue and intoxication quickly took advantage of his overwhelmed senses, and he was sent drifting off into a deep and frozen slumber.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: _Chapter 1, revised and updated! To all my readers, reviewers, and fellow fan-fiction writers – thank you. :)_  
><em>I own no rights or privileges to Dragon Age and it's wonderful characters.<em>  
><em>Without further a due, I hope you enjoy the story!<em>


	2. A Business Discussion

Hazy blue eyes opened slowly, pupils dilating and then contracting against the blinding light flooding in through the open window. His mind was clouded, but the light sound of another's breathing hastened his returning senses, and he was suddenly aware of the extra weight at his left side. Stealing a glance over his shoulder, Sebastian knew he was the first to wake.

She was curled on her side, her long wavy tresses splayed out over her pillow while her small hands lightly gripped at the rose-colored bed sheet over top of them, sealing it tight beneath her elbow to cover her naked body. Lost in a daze, Sebastian stared at her features in the sobering daylight and watched as quiet, shallow breaths passed between her slightly parted lips, noticing the slightest flutter of her long, dark lashes blanketing her round cheeks. As his eyes traveled over her light skin, now golden in the sunlight, he strained to remember all that had transpired the night before. Bits and pieces of conversation returned to him, but a lingering memory of her troubled emerald eyes jarred him from his waking haze.

He stood quietly, relieved to know that there would be no awkward goodbyes. The girl had left him confused as it was. Even _thinking_ about her was making it difficult to dress, as his strong legs stumbled their way into his pants. The notion of uncertainty was disquieting, to say the least. It was better that he left, and quickly. He needed some fresh air... He stole one last glance at the small lump in the bed before silently slipping out of the room. Kristof and Brannon were probably awake by now, and he doubted either of them would be happy.

Greeted with an onslaught of sights and smells, Sebastian gripped his head to pacify the dull ache of his hangover and took in a deep breath. The sun was high in the sky and the air was cool, albeit humid from the many rainstorms that had recently passed through. The break in the clouds, however, appeared short-lived, judging by the looming darkness hovering out over the sea. Practically dragging his feet, he made his way through the busy streets, retracing his steps to the Hightown Inn. Despite the size of its buildings, Kirkwall's wealthy district was fairly easy to navigate.

Upon entering his room, Sebastian was quick to note the bit of parchment resting atop his untouched bed. His eyes narrowed slightly as he ran a square-tipped finger over the fine line of inked letters.

'_Sebastian, I am meeting with the Grand Cleric today. Please keep out of trouble.'_

"Straight to the point," he scoffed.

The current Prince of Starkhaven was a man of few words – the only having been shared between them being his request for 'discretion.' That had gone well enough so far. None in this city knew them by face, but if word got out of any scandalous affairs associated with Starkhaven's royalty – of which Sebastian Vael was particularly known for having – it would be one more headache for the royal family to have to deal with. It seemed that's all he was recently.

Sebastian hated all the secrecy, hated how his parents kept him in the dark about everything, yet expected him to be a good boy, and to _not_ notice how much more involved his brothers were. His lip gave a bitter twitch. He wouldn't get the answers he wanted, even if he asked. It was like he barely existed…  
>They could all rot in their thrones, for all he cared. The world was at his fingertips. That thought alone had always given him solace, when none others had – everything would work out for him. It always did.<p>

He welcomed the indifference in that moment, intoxicating himself with it as he drank in the morning air. Settled on relaxing for a while, he readied himself a nice hot bath. Tonight would be another night, full of possibilities. Why brood over things you cannot change? Distractions were much more fun.

* * *

><p>The Hanged Man found itself in the company of three familiar faces that evening. Brannon was already drunk, again, unwilling to live another conscious moment remembering his "catch" from the night before. Beside him, Kristof sat fuming, glaring at Sebastian, who simply smiled in reasonable contentment.<p>

"Next time, knock me over the head before allowing me to bed a _dog_." Kristof took a good long drink before slamming the empty mug onto the table.

"Oh, come on," Sebastian laughed. "She wasn't _that_ bad. I'll bet if you take away the hair she's got a pretty face."

"_Ye_ didn't wake up with her…"

Sebastian shook his head with a disapproving smile. "Nor was I the fool who drunk himself into waking up with her."

"So I take it ye _liked_ where ye woke up?" Kristof leaned his head towards Sebastian, one brow arching high on his head. "Ye've yet to share any details."

Sebastian simply shrugged. "She was all right. …It's a bit difficult to remember anything past the ale…" he shook his head.

"Aye." They both raised their drinks in a toast. "Then let us not return to that place," Kristof declared, his voice lowered. "None of us seem keen on rememberin', so I'm dedicating this night to forgetting it even exists."

It seemed a good enough idea. The tavern had plenty of fine looking women sauntering in and out at all hours to keep them company, if they needed it. Sebastian had no need to return to the Blooming Rose. As the night dragged on, however, unbidden images slowly returned to him.

First it was glimpses of her profile, of her shy smile, that disrupted his thoughts. He made an effort to ignore them, drowning himself in cheap mead to forget; but drinking did little to help, if not make it worse. Try as he might, that girl, Hawke, refused to leave his mind. Regrettably, he couldn't even _fondly_ reminiscence on the evening, as he only had bits and pieces of memories to go off of. Instead, he just found every detail…lacking. Each flash of her captivating eyes or sad smile, each recollection of scattered words and phrases just kept him guessing. She was this…mystery, one that was persistent and nagging every moment it remained unsolved. Being with her had certainly been a refreshing experience – he would not deny that she had captured his attention – but really, it was only one night. Nothing more.

The three gentlemen spent the remainder of the evening at the Hanged Man, satisfying themselves with an endless supply of drink and plenty of free wenches. In a desperate attempt to set his mind at ease, Sebastian worked his magic on a pretty Orlesian blonde who had been eyeing him the entire night. But the flirtations were empty, the prospects of the night…uninspiring. Buried in Sebastian's mind was an unmistakable weight that clung to him, gave pause to every thought or action.

When nothing came of the night, he stormed back to his room, where the three of them finally fell into their unused beds and passed out. …But not even in sleep could Sebastian find peace. Haunted dreams and restless legs woke him, not three hours later, and an unknown force brought him to his feet. Tired and on edge, he suddenly found himself walking out the door and into the streets.

The sun had not yet risen, but the grey light of the coming dawn offered plenty of visibility as he dragged each foot, one after the other, in front of him, the cool feel of the misty morning air waking him right up. Sometime during the night his agitation had once again dissolved into apathy; but this time there was something else beneath it – an unrest that fueled his actions. His slow stroll through Hightown found himself behind a familiar building, and as he brought his gaze up to the darkened pane of the window on the right, Sebastian Vael, an heir of Starkhaven, was _nervous_.

He wanted to see her. It made no sense to him, but he did not bother trying to reason with it. …Nor was he completely settled with the idea of bursting into her room at this hour. What would he even say to her? The minutes ticked by, his feet glued to the ground as he considered what he was doing.

'…_What _am_ I doing_?'

The sounds of distant birds shook him from his stupor, and he welcomed the sobering atmosphere with a deep breath, numbing his mind with thoughts of the present. 'Half intoxicated' and 'sleep-deprived,' he reminded himself. His resolve was waning, but the nagging voice in the back of his mind would not cease. Begrudgingly, he peeled his boots from the cobblestone and began walking nowhere. Anywhere. …Probably towards the Hanged Man. There was a dwarf there whose challenge he intended take up in a game of wicked grace.

As he rounded the corner, he noticed movement near the stack of crates to the right of the steps that led to Lowtown. His brow furrowed at the sound of two female voices, but the distinct familiarity in one of them brought a sudden alertness to his wide eyes.

"-can't keep doing this," the unfamiliar voice pleaded. Her voice sounded strained. "We can find somewhere else…"

"We can't do that to her," the recognizable voice argued, her voice weary, but resolute. "You and I both know mother is tired; we can't ask that of her."

Silently, he crept forward and hid himself behind a stone column, mentally kicking himself when his heartbeat quickened slightly. A shuffle of clothing sounded before a creaking in the wooden crates.

"Here…" Hawke's voice was soft. "Brace against this."

There was a corking pop, followed by the splashes of liquid drops against the ground. Sebastian knew it was rude to eavesdrop, but he honestly couldn't care less at this point. As curiosity naturally got the better of him, he craned his neck to peak at the two, dissecting the situation with well-trained eyes.

"_Maker_ that burns," the other girl hissed between clenched teeth. Unfortunately, the crates were making it difficult to make out the severity of the wound she had apparently received. She looked a little like Hawke, only younger and much paler, with shorter hair. He remembered, with a sudden smile, that this was the same girl who broke poor Kristof's heart that night. He studied them closely with narrowed eyes. …Were they related?

"You think you'd have taken some time to learn at least _one_ healing spell," Hawke scolded from where she was kneeling. She reached in a pouch and retrieved a brown bottle. "Here, this will finish sealing it up."

The younger girl chuckled, cringing when she brought the bottle to her lips. "You know…I never was that gifted in the creation arts. …Ugh, this stuff is putrid." She held her nose as she chugged down the entirety of the potion.

"You wouldn't have to drink it if you weren't so careless," Hawke teased with a worried smile. She stood and checked the other girl for any further injuries.

"I'm sorry we can't all be experts at detecting and disarming traps like you." Still seated, she frowned and put her hands on her hips. "I may not be a healer and I may not be as cunning, but you should _see_ the other guy…"

"I'm sure he is no more than a smoldering pile of ashes. Either that, or scattered chunks of ice."

"Ice," she grinned, giving herself an approving nod.

"That'a girl," Hawke patted the other girls' head before reaching back into her bag. "Now take these to keep _on_ you. I don't think I can live with myself knowing you had to limp all the way up those stairs…"

"Thank the Maker you even had some." She took the potions with a smile, brushing off the concern.

Hawke shrugged. "What can I say? I'm always prepared." Crossing her arms, she shook her head with a sigh. "I'm afraid I can't say the same about you..."

"_Sister_, I'll be fine. I promise, I'll take better care next time."

"You'd better," Hawke mumbled as she turned to retrieve one last pouch from her bag.

'_I knew it.'_ Sebastian mentally applauded his perceptive skills. They seemed close, for siblings. Though he couldn't understand why they would lead such separate lives. Evidently there was more to this girl than she let on.

"Here. Take it."

"What's this?" Her younger sister took the bag and examined its contents after hearing the small clatter of coins, wide eyes darting back up to meet hers. "But…this is so much!"

"The only perk to working in this dump is the pay," Hawke sighed. "It should be enough for you and mother to eat _decent_ meals for the next few days."

"…I-"

"Don't you fight me on this Bethany."

"…Thank you, sister." She stored the pouch away.

"Don't thank me 'til we're out of Lowtown. Now go ahead home and get some sleep before the sun comes up. …Is your leg all right?"

"Much better." She stood and stretched with a smile. "Thanks again."

Hesitant footsteps brought them both to the top of the long set of stairs, and Sebastian had to move around the other side of the column to see them. The younger girl, Bethany, sighed.

"And you? …You're doing well, I hope."

Hawke laughed and scratched her neck. "Working here doesn't make for pleasant dinner-table conversation… But it's a job. And we're all safe. I have no complaints." She pulled her younger sister into a big hug. "I'm proud of you though; keep your chin up."

Bethany smiled and shook her head. "Oh, knock it off. I'm not a child anymore." She returned the embrace, and her face grew serious as she pulled away and turned to leave. "…And you're not as grown up, or alone, as you think you are."

The moment grew quiet, but before either of them could say another word, the young girl quickly and quietly disappeared down the stairs, leaving Hawke all alone, her eyes following her sisters' retreating form.

The light blue skies of the early morning were slowly melting into a warm magenta with the coming glow of the golden sun. A light breeze blew past them and he stepped out from behind his hiding place, watching as her hair blew wildly around her. She was dressed simply this time, in an ivory chemise and a dark green bodice. The skirts of her dress were rolled up on one side, revealing a simple pair of knee-high leather boots. Inhaling deeply, she covered her face with her hands, and exhaled as she raked her fingers through her scalp.

Sebastian simply stood, feeling awkward and out of place. His understanding of the situation, however limited, was growing with every passing second. Yet still his curiosity waged war with his instinct to flee. Should he stay and announce his presence? What would he say to her _now_, after all that? 'Nice weather this morning?' …Perhaps, this time, it was best that he left it all alone. Silently, he lifted a booted foot to move.

"Stop right there."

Her voice had him frozen. No more than twenty feet of distance between them, she squared her shoulders and turned to glare at him. She stalked forward a couple paces and stood with her arms crossed, shifting her weight to one leg. Face to face once more with her enchanting green eyes, an unfamiliar lightness overcame him.

He swallowed thickly beneath her criticizing gaze. He was paralyzed, whether by his shame at being caught or fascination that she had caught him in the first place. Sebastian usually prided himself on his prowess and cunning. Yet, coupled with the look she was giving him, he felt like a child awaiting punishment.

"So," she stared at him. "How long have you been there?"

He opened his mouth, fully intent on lying, but lost the words before he could speak them. Her very gaze disarmed him. No one, not even his parents, had ever had that effect on him. With a defeated sigh he dragged his heavy feet forward, stopping at a polite distance, not quite meeting her eyes.

"…Listen, Hawke," He scratched his head, offering an apologetic smile. "I didn't-"

"Wait…" Her wide-eyed expression caught him off guard as she tilted her head slightly. "You…remembered my name?"

He cautiously lifted his gaze, instantly finding it hard to look away. "It is…an uncommon name, where I come from. It was not difficult to remember."

She studied him briefly. It hadn't been a lie – the name "Hawke" was not one that Sebastian heard often. …He simply neglected to mention that he'd remembered much more than that. Well, bits and pieces; but lasting impressions nonetheless. If he was completely honest with himself, no girl had ever had such an effect on him. But how does one just come out and say something like that? He barely even knew her. A quiet moment began to settle around them as they regarded one another, the light of the sun spreading slowly over the horizon. The serenity was short-lived, however, when she turned from him suddenly, slapping her palm against her forehead.

"Maker," she cursed. "If Madame Lucine had been out here..." She straightened herself and offered him a smile as she strolled forward. "Forget what you heard, all right? I'm sure you came here for a reason. If you'll follow me inside, I can set you up with one of our girls. There are plenty still available at this hour…"

"Actually…" He stopped her when she touched his arm, his admission seemingly caught in his throat. He laughed quietly at his newfound hesitation. "I came here to see _you_."

To this her green eyes widened slightly, and she looked down at herself with a blush and a disbelieving chuckle. "…Really? I couldn't have made _that_ amazing of an impression on my first night."

His thoughts drifted to their last encounter. '_I wouldn't put it that way…'_

"And after all that…" She looked to where Bethany had been and shook her head with a smile. "Either you have a thing for distressed damsels, or you've got an unusually high tolerance for women with baggage," she joked. "Shall I add that to the list beside your persistence?"

He chuckled. "_Is_ the damsel in distress?"

"Only waiting for my handsome prince to sweep me off my feet and onto his noble steed," She set the back of her hand against her temple, pretending to swoon. "taking me away to far away lands where we live happily ever after…"

His laughter increased as he observed her dramatic display. "It seems like you've got it all planned out."

"I don't know," she set her fisted hands on her hips and looked up at the façade of Kirkwall's brothel. "Somewhere along the way I apparently strayed from the path."

"Or," his line of site followed hers, a thoughtful finger rubbing his jaw line, "Perhaps your path was meant to take you here, to find what you're looking for."

The sincerity of his own romanticized words shocked even himself.

"That's a faithful speech for one who…" She brought her eyes back to meet his, a playful smirk on her lips. "doesn't seem very pious."

"What?" he feigned hurt. "One can't be moral _and_ exceptionally talented in the art of pleasure?"

"I doubt the Chantry would think so." She crossed her arms and faced him fully, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "And that's a lot of talk considering only one night's worth of evidence..."

He stepped forward, ready to accept her challenge and prove his skill, but the wide-eyed expression she sent over his shoulder gave him pause.

"_Hawke_!" the dried up proprietor screeched as she opened the door. "What in blazes are you doing outside at this hour?"

She visibly shrunk beneath the older woman's verbal onslaught, but the look in her eyes told another story – one where she jumped the distance between them and knocked her teeth out.

"And what-"

"Is there a problem?" Sebastian stepped forward, between the two women. "I came with coin to pay for services," he emphasized his point by dropping a pouch of sovereigns in the madam's wrinkled hands. "And I expect this to be the first and _only_ interruption I encounter."

The old woman's face grew even paler as she fumbled with the heavy pouch of coins and bowed her head respectfully "I-I beg your pardon, messere. You will not be disturbed again, I assure you." She shifted her shrewd eyes. "Be a good girl, Hawke, and show your visitor inside."

"Of course, Madame Lucine." Hawke gave a curt nod in the woman's direction as she disappeared back through the brothel doors, finally releasing the breath she had been holding. A quiet breeze blew past, and her worried eyes looked out towards the sun, now fully risen. "Maker's breath, I've spent far too much time out here," she chided herself, "…making idle conversation as if we're just two people…" She moved to head towards the entrance.

He fell in line beside her, attempting to gauge her expression. There was distance in her that had not been there a moment ago. "Are we _not_ just two people?" he asked.

She stopped with her hand on the door, turning to face him. "No. _You_ are my paying customer. And _I_ am once again making a mess of your paid time." She shook her head in mock-sadness. "Like I said, I make a terrible whore."

"…I'm not sure being a _good_ whore is something a woman is truly proud of," he reasoned with gentle amusement.

She paused, her eyes flickering back and forth between his, and Sebastian felt his chest tighten.

"…Thank you, by the way. Your coin and quick-thinking spared me a world of grief."

She linked arms with him as he stepped ahead of her and pulled open the door, sweeping his free hand out in front of them. The curious smirk she sent him brought with it a silent personal victory, and Sebastian returned the gesture. He didn't know what he had been looking for when he got out of bed this morning, but he was decidedly grateful that he did. No matter the odd turn of events. If chancing more uncomfortable moments meant being near her, he found he didn't mind so much.

With an extra sway to her hips she led him forward, through the front entrance and into the main area, doing her best to play the part as she sauntered past the few other women. In only one day she'd apparently learned the role well. Again Sebastian found himself wondering what someone like her was doing in a place like this. Something about her was just…different. It was unexplainable, the way she was making him feel, but he was determined to find answers. His curiosity was far from sated.

The interior was a lot quieter this early in the day, with a sparse handful of men – most of them unconscious – around the tables. It was considerably darker as well, and it took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim candlelight as she took his hand and tiptoed up the stairs. Once they regained their privacy, she visibly relaxed, releasing her grip on his hand and moving to her wardrobe. Sebastian stopped and looked around her room as if seeing it for the first time.

"So…what happened out there…" he began with a quirked brow. "Am I to assume you aren't allowed to _leave_?"

Facing away from him, she paused only for a brief moment. "The courtesans are not supposed to be out unless they're off-duty…which, in my case, is never." She sighed heavily. "It's…part of my contract."

"Are you treated differently than the other girls?" He watched as she fumbled with one of her delicate outfits.

"Look, I…really don't want to talk about it. Let's just…" She pulled out a jet-black corset. "get back to business. You did come here for something after all."

"I told you I came to see you," he explained, shrugging when she turned to face him. "And I was content with talking."

"…Talking." She eyed him warily. "Surely that's not the _only_ reason you came."

"I hadn't really thought about it when I came," he answered truthfully. "But yes."

He watched her study him, searching for a catch. He couldn't blame her assumptions; she worked in a brothel. And he had yet to give her a reason to trust him. That was why, he'd decided, he was going to be straightforward. Already he found it near impossible to lie to her; and in some ways, it was quite refreshing to be so outspoken. For whatever reason, it felt natural around her.

"Honestly," he held up his hands, "I came here with little to no intentions."

"Well," she laughed, "That's coin for words, which probably aren't worth much, but sex or no sex, pretend your stay was worth it. I can't lose this job."

He leaned his back against the wooden post at the foot of her bed, meeting her eyes as he finally broached the question. "Why are you here?"

"…Excuse me?" She blinked twice.

"Here. In this brothel," he explained. "Why are you here if you don't want to be?"

"I knew what you meant," she chuckled low in her throat. "You just make it sound so simple…" Her eyes darted back and forth between his blue ones, distrusting. "I find it hard to believe you _really_ came all this way just to ask me that. What business is it of yours?"

The tone of her voice sent off warning signs in his head, but Sebastian was rarely one to listen to them, let alone back down when he should. He lifted an innocent brow. "I find the inquiry harmless."

Her gaze grew cold. "And _I_ find it invasive. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but my personal life is not yours to poke and prod at. I'm not here by choice, and we'll leave it at that." She turned away from him to change her clothes.

"My intent was not to pry," he continued, "just to make sense of what little information has already presented itself to me."

Her posture went stiff. "I told you to forget what you heard. And I stand by that request. If you are unhappy with my terms, then you can leave."

More warning signs. Sebastian could sense her withdrawal from the conversation, but he did not want to lose it. If he pushed a little further, she was bound to give in eventually. "I don't want to leave."

"Then what do you want from me?" She threw her garments on the floor and faced him, her green eyes alight with frustration. "Stop pretending you have any right to care, because I'm tired of pretending I still have patience! Have you even _considered_ how hard it is to live like this? Normally it's business or pleasure in life, but _here_," she threw an open palm out into her room, "Pleasure _is_ business. It's been hard enough for me to keep it that way, so do me a favor and stop…_confusing_ me!" Her voice grew quiet, her eyes shimmering. "…I…didn't _want_ this, all right? Just…leave it at that."

She met his gaze with an empty, but resolute determination; and her candid honesty completely undid him. With a heated flush to her cheeks, she turned away from him then and retrieved her discarded attire. Sebastian inwardly winced as the words of her confession settled heavily in his mind. It was her second day here, he remembered shamefully – of course it would be a sensitive subject. Curiosities be damned, he had pushed her too hard. Maker, he was an ass. He opened his mouth to speak, hoping to salvage what he could of the exchange, but the look in her eyes had placed a crushing weight on his chest. For the first time in years, he was overwhelmed with guilt.

The moments passed by, the morning light and the sounds of the city outside forcing an awareness of time that neither seemed keen on acknowledging. Silently, she unlaced the ties to her bodice, paying no mind to his presence when he approached from behind. She was halfway through her task when his broad hands covered hers, and held them gently in place. When he finally freed the strings from her stubborn fingers, her arms fell to her sides and she let out an exasperated sigh.

"You're infuriating."

"No, I'm persistent," he reminded her in a hushed tone as he began re-lacing her ties. "And I am paying for it."

"Your persistence is infuriating."

His square tipped fingers worked with tender precision, and his voice took on a heartfelt sensitivity with which he was…unacquainted. "Do you wish me to leave?"

"…No." She chucked softly. "But I don't understand why."

When he said nothing she peaked at him over her shoulder.

"I do know you could save yourself some trouble by seeing any of the other girls. They probably have plenty to talk about, and are more likely to be emotionally desensitized."

When he finished, one of his hands came down to tug lightly on her chin and turn her to face him fully. "I told you this morning that I came here to see _you_. I also told you I was fine with talking. Both are still true."

She blushed and averted her eyes. It amazed him how bold and feisty she could be one minute, and yet so shy and reserved the next – yet one more mystery about her that he wished to unravel. In time. For now, he was content to try and fix any damage he had caused. A wistful smile spread over her face and it felt like a punch to his already bruised chest.

"Please, stranger, help me to understand your motives... I don't even know your name. In all likeliness, I will never see you again after today."

"Did you think that after our last meeting?"

When their eyes met this time, uncertainty slowly gave way to curiosity. She parted her lips to speak, and then paused, her lingering gaze slowly moving to stare out her window. Did he really believe he would see her again? The answer came to his mind just as quickly as the words had fallen from his mouth a moment ago. Again, however, he didn't try to think about it, didn't try to reason with it. So how could he help her comprehend what he himself didn't fully understand?

A thoughtful look passed over her face as the wind blew lightly through the opening and danced playfully in her room. He watched her approach her windowsill and set a soft hand against the wooden frame. Her loose hair fluttered lightly in the gentle breeze, the skin of her neck and shoulders practically glowing in the daylight. The sun was already high in the sky. It dawned on him then that neither of them had really slept yet.

"You want to know why I'm here?" she asked suddenly, her back still facing him.

His eyes softened as he studied her. "You don't have to tell me if you don't-"

"To pay a debt." Her eyes found there way back to his. "And before you ask, it is not a debt of my own making."

He raised a quizzical brow and she sighed, a light smile finding its way onto her face.

"You're lucky I needed to vent."

He smiled sheepishly. "Would it help if I apologized for being so forward earlier?"

"If you apologized for being an audacious prick, you mean? It might."

"Ouch," he chuckled. "I probably deserved that."

She grinned. "You did."

They shared amused glances before her gaze found the ceiling. "I am here," she sighed, waving her hand out around her, "whoring myself out to _Kirkwall_ citizens, to pay my family's way into this _damned_ city because we have no where else to go." She spared a glance in his direction. "I'm going to assume you know about the blight in Ferelden."

"I was told you were Ferelden," he nodded, "And yes, I've heard of it."

"Most of the refugees here are my countrymen. The blight has taken everything – consumed our lands, our homes…" She paused and her eyes grew distant. "…and our families."

Sebastian winced, feeling even more like an ass for attempting to pry these things out of her. He opened his mouth to speak, holding up a hand to stop her, but she met his eyes and continued.

"I am here because my family has nothing left, save for the fraction of hope that the three of us can survive together. I am here because my only other living relative is an avaricious gambling uncle who squandered my mother's fortune and left us with nothing but his own burdens to bear atop our own. I am _here_ because mother is tired and I won't let her down after losing both father _and_ Carver." Her voice was shaken with the fresh tears that threatened to fall, but her gaze was hard and angry. "I am _here_ because I am the eldest sister, and Bethany will not sacrifice her innocence while I stand. …And I am _here_ because I am stubborn and I don't give up without a fight."

The determination in her eyes was both admirable and intimidating, not at all lessened by the tears of rage streaming down her face. But she was not crying. In an act of defiance she swallowed thickly and turned back to stare out the window. Sebastian had seen it though – all the pain in her eyes that just yearned for release. However ill prepared, he had forced the issue to this point; and he would see it though. He could hear the strain in her voice as he approached her.

"If your curiosity is satisfied-"

Before she could finish, he turned her around and pulled her into a gentle embrace.

She cried then, and she did not hold back.

Slumping to the floor, Sebastian cradled the poor girl in his arms, not at all minding the dampness growing on his shirt or the discomfort of their awkward position. He could find no words of advice, no empathy on which to share or relate; but whatever he _was_ offering her, it seemed to be enough. In that moment Sebastian decided he didn't care to question any of it any longer. This girl amazed and confused him all at once. Her honesty…humbled him – though he didn't know whether to admire it or hate it, knowing how helpless it rendered him. Her outspoken and genuine nature was infectious, contagious. Never had anyone made such a powerful impact on his life, in such a short amount of time. As he held her, pondering just how much she had been affecting him, he could not stop the genuine smile that spread over his lips. So there they sat – he softly, and selflessly, shushing away her tears, and she taking comfort in the arms of a complete stranger.

The silence that followed was surprisingly welcome, and the lulling sound of the wind outside pulled him into a state he hadn't known in a long time – contentment. Sebastian could only bask in a moment of self-worth as she sighed heavily, happy to have been the shoulder she needed. After a short while, she turned in his lap to meet his eyes.

"It seems I owe you thanks… I guess I needed that." She smiled and it melted his heart.

"Don't." His blue eyes passed over her tear-stained face and locked with hers. "You're…a very strong person," he admitted, "A lot stronger than I ever would have been in your place. It is no kindness to help a beautiful person like you in getting such weight off your chest. It should have been done sooner."

She blushed at the intensity of his gaze. He couldn't believe the words coming out of his own mouth. But then, he supposed he meant them. Speaking his mind so freely and openly came with a strange satisfaction.

"Really though… Thank you." She searched his eyes with plain curiosity. "You were gentle last night, where others might not have been. And now, despite your…initially abrasive tactics," she chuckled softly, "I find myself grateful for the outcome of our conversation."

"Well that makes two of us," he grinned.

"I hope this means you'll finally tell me your name."

"I don't know," he mused, pulling her slightly closer to him and causing the blush in her cheeks to resurface. "I've grown quite fond of the idea of being your secret admirer."

"It's hardly a secret when I know it's you," she laughed.

"Point taken."

"But _foreign_ admirer," She mused out loud, eying his lips. "suits your lovely accent."

"Oh? You find my accent _lovely_?" He drew out each word, thickening his brogue and causing her to shiver in response when he leaned closer.

"You _know_ I do…" she pouted with a smile. "I told you when we first met."

She moved to shift the weight of her body and they both noticed that she was still sitting in his lap, his hands resting lightly on her thigh and lower back. When she lifted her gaze, he felt his heartbeat quicken, ever so slightly. The curious longing in her eyes nearly sent him over the edge.

His eyes locked with hers, blue and green, in fierce battles of desire. For a woman of so little experience, she could so easily shake the foundations of his resolve. For that look, he would give her anything. His fingertips twitched when she moved again, gripping lightly to the soft skin beneath her clothes. Senses heightened and pulses rapidly increasing, a single thought halted his waning self-control.

How long was she expected to stay here?

A month? A year? Sebastian paused to study the tired lines beneath her eyes. She really was beautiful. …She didn't deserve to be in a place like this. Even now he could sense in her the slightest hesitation, given the expectations of her profession. She would have to learn it, wouldn't she. She would grow to accept it; and it would change her. The realizations were…disturbing. Once again he felt guilt creep up his spine and settle like an itch at the back of his mind. He had come here this morning with self-seeking motives, had stayed to talk to her out of curiosity and undeniable attraction. But now…

There was still so much about her that he did not know, so many feelings he still did not understand. But he knew enough; and one thing was certain: here, in this moment, he was going to grant her the reprieve that very few others would.

He stood suddenly, scooping her up in his arms as though she were light as a feather and walked back to her bed, laying her gently atop her pillows and blankets. Smirking at her bemused expression, he set a gentle finger against her lips to silence the queries and objections he presumed would be coming. Judging by the flustered huff of confusion, he guessed he was right.

Ignoring her quizzical gaze, he moved to the foot of the bed and carefully removed her boots, one after the other. After setting them to the side, he walked over to her window and dragged the heavy curtains together, leaving only a small gap of light to penetrate the dim glow of the room. Sebastian could feel her eyes penetrating the back of his head, but he simply smiled as he licked his fingers and pinched out the flames of the two candles on her table. He kicked off his own boots and crawled into bed beside her, sighing in satisfaction as he draped an arm over her torso and closed his eyes.

"Sleep," he commanded quietly, a smile in his voice.

A moment of silence followed, and Sebastian peaked open an amused eye.

"You can make it up to me."

She scoffed, a smile of her own making its way onto her face. "I hesitate to ask how. …Though I won't entertain the possibility of seeing you again after tonight."

He simply smiled and closed his eye. "You have to come out with me tomorrow night. Into the city"

He couldn't see her face, but he could imagine her mulling over the idea with an assortment of entertaining expressions. Hearing her yawn, he allowed her the space she needed to roll over and get comfortable. No doubt she was emotionally and physically drained from the past few days.

"Sure," she chuckled, snuggling into her pillow.

"Promise?"

"Mmhmm…"

And she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: _Chapter 2, ALSO revised and updated! From here on out, each chapter will be revisited and edited until the story is finished.  
>I hope everyone is enjoying it so far (it's kind of my first one); and any reviews or input will be read and much appreciated. The idea for this fan-fiction sort of came from a combination of prompts requests and some musings of my own – moments and scenarios that tend to roll around in my head until I do something about them. There was this line, upon reaching the romantic conclusion with the exiled prince, where Sebastian says something like: "I've never known a woman like you before. Had we met… No," and then he stops himself before continuing the enticing thought.  
>And thus, the inspiration for this story. <em>

_As I am pretty sure that most of us are either students or full-time jobholders, I would like to take a moment and applaud anyone who finds time in their busy schedules to dedicate to their creativity. There are some very talented authors on here, many of whom have stolen hours of sleep from me, but for that :) I hold no grudge. Keep doing what you love. Others probably love it too._


	3. Tranquility

She woke, cold and alone, just as she had predicted.

Hawke's tentative green eyes widened and blinked away far too many hours worth of sleep. Looking over at her window, it took her mind a moment to register that she had slept straight into the next day. The sun was veiled behind new clouds and coming rains, but judging by the color of light outside and the ache in her body, she had slept a much-needed sleep.

She turned to regard the empty space beside her, doing her best to ignore the sinking feeling in her heart. She had made a promise to herself – she would not get attached. The truth was bitter and harsh, but she could not allow herself to falter. People were here for themselves, not for her. No matter how kind his words were… A smile touched her lips, but it came and left just as quickly. Smacking her palm against her forehead, she cursed her own stupidity and tore the blankets away from her body. She could see to her life – or lack there of – _after_ she left this forsaken void of a place.

And with that, she was determined to do something, _anything_ productive. She settled for cleaning both herself and her room, enjoying what little time she had to gather her thoughts and to be alone. Times like these would be a rarity and she would not waste it away being miserable and…hypothetical. She briefly wondered how much of her time that guy had paid for, seeing as how no one had yet called on her.

After a hot bath, she dressed herself in a nice evening gown with simple stitching and breathable material. Her hair dried in natural loose waves and her skin practically sang in its freedom from the oils and fragrances. Staring into her mirror nearly brought a smile to her face. It was nice being able to recognize her own reflection. She could fancy up later; right now she wanted to feel like a normal girl, for as long as possible.

She walked quietly to the corner of the room and knelt down to open an ornate ebony chest, inside of which she kept her personal belongings. Her sifting hands gave pause when her fingers found the protruding hilt of one of her daggers. After locating the other, she lifted them both with a wistful air. One was an heirloom from her father, the glittering silver blade still sharp after countless days of practice. The other she kept was a worn darkspawn blade, a replacement for her empty left hand and a reminder of the life she could not save.

She stared blankly at its jagged edges, while a fire inside her stirred into life. She would not give up fighting. She would not waste away in this dump and forget who she was. She would simply have to find time, and a quiet place, to practice. Dealing with these people, there was no doubt in her mind that she would be ready and willing to take out her frustration on _something_.

With careful hands she set her weapons aside to pick up the two books Bethany had acquired for her. Over the years Hawke had found ways to satisfy her natural curiosity by collecting scattered tomes and texts; but it all had to be left behind, back in Lothering. Luckily, there were some perks that went along with having a smuggler for a sister. She lifted herself up and found her way over to the windowsill. Once situated, she examined the books, running careful fingers along the loose binding. One was a random excerpt from an anthology of Chantry history, and the other was an informative description of the Tevinter Imperium. Ironic.

She read in peaceful silence for some time, basking in the warmth of the sunlight against the windowpane. From where she was sitting, Tevinter felt like some far-off fairyland. Day to day life sounded so different there. What might it have been like if they had to flee to a city like that instead? …For one thing, they probably wouldn't have to spend every day worrying about ducking under templar watch. Growing up with an apostate father and sister, the fear had embedded itself in her. Now, it was difficult to keep an open mind on such a controversial topic. Kirkwall seemed full of controversy. It was one thing getting their mother back here… but could Bethany really make a life here? Could _she_?

A rock at the window pulled her from her daydreams and Hawke nearly threw the fragile books in the air with alarm. Hastily setting them aside, she was suddenly aware of the dim light in her room, and of the lantern lights outside. The sun was already setting. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust as she opened her window and gathered her wits. Had she imagined it?

"Lady Hawke!"

Peering through the crowd below, she saw him – the only man she could have even _wanted_ to see – standing in the illuminated cobblestone, finely dressed and sporting that trademark smirk of his. It was difficult to hide her smile as she leaned out to greet him.

"Well, well. If it isn't my foreign admirer, come to woo me from the streets." She brushed a feminine hand against her temple.

He chuckled. "That's just the start, m'lady…" He bowed before her like a gentleman, a gesture that appeared to have been etched perfectly into his memory. "I've come to collect on that promise."

Her brow furrowed as she searched for the memory; and her eyes went wide. Curse herself for promising anything – let alone a night of hooky – when she damned well knew she shouldn't be pressing her luck after only her third day of employment. She looked around her room, completely at a loss, and let out a heavy sigh as she turned back to meet his expectant grin.

"I…don't know if I'm allowed…" she called down, unease lowering her voice. "What if-"

"I've paid through the night, don't worry about it," he shouted up to her with a challenging smile, "In fact, don't think about anything! Just come out and live your life a little."

His words kindled the fire in her that she had earlier sparked, and as she stared down at the strange man below her, she could not deny herself anything in that moment.

"You'd better catch me," she warned and put one leg out the window.

And after the baffled onlookers carried on with their evenings, she strolled beside him in reasonable contentment.

"You're a lot heavier than you look from that height," he winced, rubbing his backside.

"I'll take that as a compliment," she grinned. "So where are we going?"

"To my favorite part of this miserable city," he chuckled. "I think you'll like it."

* * *

><p>"So this is the Hanged Man…" She nodded in approval.<p>

The sound of music and cheers, the stench of vomit and ale… Hawke could not help but smile at the respite of the evening ahead of her. Her foreign admirer had been kind enough to keep his word, so consequences be damned, she was happy to keep up on hers.

Bearded men swarmed the bar, tipping their mugs and sharing stories while the sway of feminine hips would derail their collective train of thought. Soldiers, commoners, every depraved man and woman in Kirkwall came here to find a peace that was normally vacant in their day-to-day lives. And within those men sat the only two her companion seemed eager to find.

"Oye! Kristof, Brannon!" he shouted, coming up to pat their backs roughly. "I hope there's still some ale left."

The larger of the two men turned from the bar to eye him. "Well it's about bleedin' time ye showed up! We were wonderin where ye'd gone off t-"

"Who's this?" The other leaned back, a wide-eyed, goofy expression on his face that matched his rosy cheeks well.

The first man abandoned his rant and set his mug aside to turn around and judge for himself.

"My friends, this is Hawke," he gently ushered her forward and extended a hand in the direction of his comrades. "Hawke, this is Kristof and Brannon, friends from…back home."

"My lady," Kristof bowed with a wolfish grin. "It is an honor to meet the alluring siren whose call has kept my dear friend drooling over many a pint," he teased as he held her hand and planted a gentle kiss upon her skin.

"The lass must be a mage," Brannon chortled, taking up her other hand, "Because her magic is already working on me…"

Her 'foreign admirer' smacked his palm against his head.

Hawke blushed lightly, quick to note the matching accents as she studied them both. Kristof's hair was darker, sporting a trimmed goatee and green eyes, while Brannon had a simple moustache, his hair kept in a dirty blonde ponytail, and brown eyes. The three men were very charming, and each attractive in their own way, but she was secretly pleased to have met the cutest of the trio. She nodded politely towards them as the barkeep suddenly appeared with a round of drinks.

"Hawke, was it?" Kristof leaned towards her. "…You don't have a sister, do you?"

"Actually," she laughed, "I do. But I'm not sure she's your type."

"If she's anything like you-"

Her auburn-haired stranger finally cut in, moving to stand beside her, practically beaming. "She's something else, isn't she?"

Her blush deepened profusely when he set a possessive hand on her shoulder. Unable to meet his eyes, she reached for an unclaimed mug and threw back half its contents, breathing deeply and willing the single pint to unwind her. It wouldn't take more than two to get the job done, but she would need it if she wanted to control her irritatingly rapid heartbeat. She grimaced when the aftertaste settled in her mouth and swallowed thickly. It had been a long time since she'd had a drink; and those times had been far and few. Still…she did not remember ale tasting like mabari piss.

Idle conversation picked up between the three men, and Hawke peaked a curious eye at the hand still resting on her shoulder, marveling at the turn of events this night. Seeing him again was certainly a surprise… but, then again, he seemed to be full of them. Ever since that morning when he returned, there was something different about him – signs that hinted at something more beneath the arrogance and pretty eyes. She had tried so hard to keep their interactions distant, but her damn curiosity was as persistent as he was. …And his interest in her seemed to be genuine. All his attention on her made it feel like they were here _together_…

'_Stop that_.'

She shook her head when Kristof held out his hand towards an empty table.

"Shall we?"

She blinked once before falling in step behind them, trying hard not to make a giggly ass out of herself when her 'admirer' took her hand and helped her into an empty chair. Reaching for her mug, she closed her eyes and gulped down the remainder of the warm foamy liquid, cringing when she exhaled and set it down. Maker, this stuff made injury poultices seem appetizing.

They each followed suit before Kristof slammed his mug down with an amused snort. "_Brannon_! Why don't ye tell everyone who ye ran into on our way down here."

Brannon ran a hand over his face and her admirer's eyes twinkled in keen interest. "I'm surprised he _hasn't_ told us yet," he teased. "Was it your beautiful 'catch' from before?"

"Worse," Brannon mumbled. "She was a guard."

Kristof grinned wickedly and turned towards the two of them. "He was too drunk and mesmerized by the red hair to notice he was running his hand over an _armored_ bottom."

"Wait," Hawke laughed. "Was she wearing a leather headband? Because if I know who you're talking about, I'm surprised you even walked away after that."

Brannon sighed and ducked his head, parting his hair to reveal a large red lump. "I think you do know who I'm talking about."

Her admirer chuckled, turning his attention back to her. "A friend in the guard? I don't know whether that's a blessing or a curse."

"She's a good fighter, I know that." Hawke smiled. "Either way, I have a feeling she'll come in handy, in a city like this."

Brannon took a sip from his mug. "I hate guards."

"All of them?" Hawke tilted her head with a smirk. "Or just the ones with a good right hook?"

"Oh, ye don't know the start of it, lass." Kristof shook his head with a smile. "Grab another pint and we'll share some stories…"

* * *

><p>Hawke's eyes were wide and full of tears as she brought a hand up to stifle her laughter. "He didn't…"<p>

"Aye, he did," Kristof chortled. "And there's her father, standing there in nothing but his loins, with a sword in each hand, and he says…" He closed his eyes, shaken with amusement, and cleared his throat to deepen it even further. "_'I'll have your deflowering piece mounted on my wall beside your head!_'"

Hawke chuckled loudly. "So what did he do?" She turned to meet her admirer's blue eyes with bewildered anticipation.

He smiled at her and shrugged his shoulders. "I ran. Fast."

She snickered at the imagery they had conjured, trying not to lose herself to the contagious laughter around the table. Judging by the roguish and scandalous stories she was hearing, it was no wonder her 'admirer' had been so…confident in the area of pleasure. All these tales of drinking, debauchery, and foolhardy adventures made her wonder just how much more there was to this strange young man that she didn't know about.

She noted the stiffness in his posture with a sympathetic smile. His friends were either cruel or oblivious to his discomfort; and she couldn't help but wonder if she was the cause. Judging by the tint to his cheeks, he probably would have kept some of these details to himself, if he'd had the choice. Perhaps she could give the poor guy a break and regale them with stories of her own. She cleared her throat loudly to gain everyone's attention.

"Back in Ferelden there was this templar – big, ugly brute of a man – who kept watch in front of the Chantry at night. He was _supposed_ to allow entry to those seeking safety or guidance after hours, but all he _really_ did was shoo people away so he could sleep on the job."

"A real charmer," her admirer chuckled, shooting her a grateful smile.

"Indeed." Hawke grinned. "Well me and some of the other kids thought we'd repay him for all his hard work and service to the town; so one night we snuck into the Chantry to collect a few…items. Now he must have been particularly tired that night because no matter how many times we poked and whispered near him, he would not budge; he just sat there, passed out against the Chantry doors. So we covered him in women's underclothes – even draping a pair over his helmet – and some robes of one of the lay-sisters. Then we tucked his hand into the top of his pants and left him there 'til morning." She chuckled to herself at the memory "The revered mother was the first to find him the next day, followed by the rest of the templars."

The three young men burst into laughter, Kristof leaning forward with eager attention. "And ye didn't catch any blame for it?"

Hawke sighed. "Unfortunately, my brother spent the following day gloating about our success. The templar overheard just in time for him to recall me draping the smallclothes over his head."

"So what did you do?" he asked.

Hawke simply shrugged. "I ran. Fast."

And again the laughter erupted. Hawke smiled through the jab of pain at mentioning her brother, but the mirth was doing well to lift her spirits. Beneath the table she felt a warm hand cover hers, and she met her admirer's eyes with a swell of gratitude. The moment, however, ground to a halt when a tall man with dark hair stumbled over to where Hawke was sitting. She turned to look up at him, but stopped when he leaned in close to her.

"Well, well," he slurred, his breath capable of felling enemies with its potency. "If it isn't the fiery little spirit from the Rose…" His fingers drifted out to touch her cheek and her lip curled with disgust. "Still available off grounds?"

Hawke inwardly groaned at the disruption _and_ the reminder. Of course this would happen. Why _wouldn't_ she just enjoy a night of distractions from her miserable existence? She was seconds away from standing and slapping him senseless, but his hand was abruptly snatched away before he could touch her again. Her eyes turned back to find her admirer was now standing.

"The only thing you should be looking for," he warned, twisting the offending hand away roughly. "Is the door."

The man hissed and spun around when his arm was released and he stumbled back into another fellow in his chair. "And who the blazes are you," he sneered, "What's this whore mean to y-"

The mans words abruptly ended with a fist to his face, his body sprawling out over the table behind him and knocking several mugs of ale into angry laps. "Hey! What in Andraste's tits d'ya think you're _doin_?" one of the angry drunkards shouted.

One misdirected punch led to another, and soon the foreseeable bar fight erupted, ensnaring almost every single body in the Hanged Man in a blood-and-beer-soaked brawl.

"Oye! Lad!" Kristof shouted when Brannon slugged him in his jaw.

Brannon opened his eyes and shrugged sheepishly. He didn't seem prepared when Kristof returned fire.

"Ah!" Hawke squeaked in surprise when a hand came over her head and pulled her down under the table. A heavy thud landed above them, causing her to flinch slightly. Her bewildered gaze lifted as a light cloud of dust fell over her head. "It seems I owe you thanks," she shouted, smiling when another body landed near them on the floor, "again."

"While you are most welcome," her admirer smirked, "now is not quite the time." He quickly entwined their fingers and motioned his head behind him. "Follow me."

They practically crawled on hands and knees through the fray of angry boots and flipping tables, eventually finding their way to the exit in time to hear the frantic cries of the barkeep. Stifling their chuckles, they deftly escaped out the door and into the crisp night air.

Hawke breathed a sigh of relief as they leaned against the outer wall. "Should we help your friends?"

"Nah," he waved a hand at the building behind them. "Those two are always looking for a way to beat the life out of something. They probably needed this," he chuckled.

"I don't blame them," she joined in his laughter, almost envious of the opportunity.

The clean air was a blessing to her senses, and she breathed it in greedily as the two of them slowly started walking off their adrenaline. She looked around them with a raised brow.

"So… do you know your way around Lowtown?"

"All I know is a dotted line between the Hightown Inn, the Hanged Man, and the Blooming Rose," he chuckled shamefully.

"It seems we know about the same then," she sighed, "I spend all my time in that damn brothel…"

"I'm glad you came," he admitted quietly.

Her eyes found his, and she smiled. "I am too."

The warmth in her hand brought her gaze downward, and she noticed that their fingers were still entwined. Without thinking, she pulled her hand away, scolding her childish behavior at the curious shift of his gaze.

They had already _slept_ together, for Andraste's sake.

"…I really should get back soon though."

He stole another glance at her and nodded. The moment grew quiet and she mentally kicked herself. Perhaps she could derail the awkward tension she'd gone and created.

"-But not before you tell me something about _you_," she smiled innocently. "And tales from under the bed sheets don't count."

"Ah," he laughed, shaking his head. "I…suppose you wouldn't take 'no' for an answer, would you?"

"Not a chance. In fact, let's start with your most _difficult_ feelings you've been dealing with lately," she chuckled, her finger on her chin. "I want all those out in the open."

He grinned sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. "I did do that to you, didn't I?"

"Aye," she teased. "You did."

"Perhaps the lady might spare me her revenge for another time?" he pleaded.

"...Are you saying I will see you _again_ after tonight?" she asked, the disbelief written clearly on her face. When they stopped, she realized they'd already reached the top of the stairs connecting Lowtown to Hightown.

A light breeze blew by and he turned to face her, his blue eyes intense and unreadable. "…If you'd have me," he smirked and pulled her hand up to kiss her knuckles, much like he did the first night they met. "I'd be lying if I said you weren't intruding upon my every waking thought."

Her green eyes lit with amusement. "Well I suppose depriving you of sleep is one way of getting back at you." The gentle smile on her face slowly faded as she searched his eyes. "…But you can't be serious."

He held her gaze. "I am." His eyes fell to her lips for a moment. "And you needn't doubt it. I find it impossible to lie to you."

This time it was she who had no words.

A million thoughts of uncertainty lingered, yet Hawke felt somewhere between contentment and bliss, bathed in the soft glow of the early morning in the Red Lantern district. Suddenly it seemed so easy to forget about everything else – the Rose, her obligations, her life here… Suddenly, she realized, it was impossible to ignore her growing attraction to the man in front of her.

Their eyes flickered back and forth before he dipped his head down to softly press a kiss to her cheek. It was short, and sweeter than anything she had ever felt, and Hawke was overwhelmed by his closeness, her senses heightened at the familiar feel of him. His scent was so pure, like standing in an airy forest, the leaves, needles, and bark all dampened from a fresh rain. She felt like she was floating. But the soft warmth on her cheek was too soon replaced by the chill of the air around them.

He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers. "I…should go," he breathed.

Hawke blinked once and parted her lips to speak, but he turned abruptly. She could only watch him leave. Her heart was racing and her mind was as much a mess as his appeared to be. Still, she stood there, and the minutes passed by beneath the coming dawn.

With heavy feet, she returned to the Blooming Rose.

* * *

><p>A cold and tired glare greeted Sebastian as he pushed through the brothel doors. The proprietor scowled as she warily took his coin. "If you're planning another nightly excursion with my girl, you're going to have to wait over there," she jabbed her finger at the empty tables in the corner. "She's with a customer right now. You can have her after he's done."<p>

His trademark grin faded and a noticeable frown marred his features. Had his antics from last night gotten her into any sort of trouble? Stepping away from the counter, his stomach churned as his line of sight traveled up the stairs. The old woman's words set off a warning inside him, but all he could do was wait. He sat at a small wooden table against the wall, forcing a calm over his mind. As the minutes ticked by, however, the constant tapping of his foot gave away his growing impatience.

Sebastian had spent the entire night unable to find sleep. If his eyes had shut, it was only a matter of minutes before they would open again and he would curse and pace about his room. Nothing made sense. And whenever he was away from this girl, things made even less sense. To make matters worse, he had bumped into his father on the main floor of the inn that morning, and the 'Prince of Starkhaven' simply looked at him and shook his head before leaving. _That_ of course did nothing to improve his mood. A night of thinking, drinking, and cursing found him – again – at a loss. Finally he had passed out around mid-morning… and the first thought that came to mind when he awoke was her.

Movement on the stairs caught his eye and he turned to see a large pot-bellied man descending with…an unmistakable glow to him. The grizzled thug cast the other girls a predatory grin before stalking confidently out the door. Sebastian did not miss the mischief in his eyes that accompanied his smile, or the way the girls sent a knowing look of disapproval after him when he left.

His desire to see Hawke broke his thoughts and spurred him instantly up the stairs. He knocked politely at her door with a furrowed brow, able to discern audible fumbling and muttered curses before her voice sounded.

"I'll be right there," she called, the weariness in her voice painfully obvious.

Sebastian waited patiently in the hallway before her quiet "come in" ushered him forward, his heartbeat coming in quick, erratic bursts. He opened his mouth to speak as he shut the door behind him, but found himself staring at her back, rather than her front.

"Hawke?"

"Oh, it's you…" Relief flooded her voice, and she turned to greet him with a smile on her face.

His own smile was short-lived.

Her eyes went wide. She quickly moved to cover her face, but his gentle hands stopped her and turned her chin to face him.

An eerie quiet and discomfort settled in her room. Very slowly he turned her face from side to side. His examination was painfully deliberate; but the look in his eyes silenced any of her complaints as he studied the cut on her lip and the darkening bruise around her left eye.

Sebastian was livid. His body and mind were surging with an anger he had never known. The idea of killing a man had never felt so…compelling. His normally clear blue eyes were clouded with an unfamiliar disquiet and an unsettling darkness.

"Someone was not gentle with you."

It was a statement, rather than a question. Hawke sighed and looked away.

"It's no surprise really. I was bound to get a 'rough' one sooner or later." Her resentment practically dripped from her words.

His thumb brushed the cut on her lip and she flinched. "Did that stout _bastard_ do this?"

Hawke cast him a meaningful look and gently pushed his probing fingers away from her face. "And what if he did, hmm? What happens in these rooms _stays_ here," she reminded him. "No one is dead, so he did nothing wrong."

"My ass he didn't," he seethed. He met her eyes with something he chose to mask with anger. "I'll-"

"Do nothing," she soothed with tender strokes to the side of his face. "Please, my foreign admirer," she light-heartedly teased, "I've…had a rough day. But your unexpected appearance has made it seem brighter. Just…let it go."

While her gentle ministrations eased his desire to chase after the man and end his life, Sebastian's mind was waging a war on itself – torn between inaction and injustice, to wondering what rights he felt he had over her in the first place. He closed his eyes and sighed as her soft hands ran through his hair. The gesture seemed innocent at first, playful even, but as the moments passed it grew into something more.

A possessiveness he had never known gripped him, and in a desperate act he pulled her to him suddenly, a strong, protective hand covering her head. He wanted to shield and shelter her, and the notion of it…frightened him. His heart wretched painfully inside him as last night's realization replayed in his mind. He'd been so lost in his pursuit for answers, so caught up in their playful banter that he never even stopped to consider how right she was to question his reappearances. He really would be gone in a matter of days. And where did that leave her?

Unsure with himself even more than before, he pulled away to find her green eyes staring up at him.

"Your concern for me is quite endearing."

She tried to joke, but there was a darkness in her eyes that had not been there the night before. Already he could see beginnings of the worn and weary look normally carried by the women who walked this path and lived this lifestyle. She would lose herself in this place. …But what could he do?

"…Let's get out of here."

Hawke blinked twice. "But, what ab-"

"No buts." He began searching her elegant dresser drawers for more suitable clothing. "I've paid for the evening again."

She opened her mouth to protest again when a cotton blouse landed abruptly over her head. In another sigh of defeat, she turned around to change.

* * *

><p>Moments later they were out on the street, both in comfortable evening attire and neither having said a word since Sebastian's sharp acknowledgement to the proprietor that "they'd be back."<p>

The air was warm, but not at all humid like before. It was a clear, beautiful night, and the stars shone brightly down on Kirkwall as an offering of some peace to the troubled hearts below. It felt good, and Sebastian was in no hurry to sully the silence with 'what if's' and hypothetical nonsense. Instead, he walked beside her – tending to the present as he did best – making her feel an equal rather than a submissive or a slave. When the Blooming Rose was no longer in sight, she inhaled deeply and flung her arms wide out into the air. He didn't know whether or not he imagined the twinkle of happiness in her eyes, but then and there, Sebastian swore that he would use every ounce of his power to see it again.

She laughed when she suppressed a cough. "Maker, this city stinks." She looked up at the stars as they strolled, a polite distance between them. "I miss Lothering."

"What was it like there? No special stories," he explained, "Just…tell me about it."

Her smile brightened. "…Well, for one, it was damp." She pointed up one finger to start counting, a reminiscent smile on her lips. "Lots of mud. Ferelden can smell a little like wet dog and garbage during the soggy months, but the temperature is always…average."

"Average sounds good," he chuckled.

"Winters were cold, summers were hot, but it was bearable. There weren't too many extremes to deal with, apart from all the mud," she giggled. "Carver and I used to help our father chop the wood for the fires in winter, and he'd get _so_ mad when I could chop more than him," she laughed. Her voice grew quiet. "He was always so competitive, and I used to hate it, but now…" she sighed, "Now it's probably the thing I miss the most about him."

Their walking slowed when Sebastian set a gentle hand on her shoulder, but she held up her hand to stop him before he could say anything.

"Thank you, but it's okay. Really." Her smile appeared genuine, despite her sadness. "I think the more I talk about it, the easier it gets." She looked ahead of them, at nothing in particular, as they kept their pace. "A lot has happened recently… And I know I'll never truly forget, but it's nice to know that I actually have…someone to talk to apart from my family."

She stopped to look at him and he could do nothing as her sincere gaze melted his heart. He felt like a fool of a man. All of his pride, all his confidence, it all shattered in her company and faded away to leave…something he didn't fully understand. No matter what, this girl always found a way to humble and dismantle him.

She broke their gaze and an indefinable expression spread over her face.

"What's wrong?" Sebastian craned his neck at the unfamiliar scenery.

"I…" she looked around. "This…is where my mother and sister live, with my uncle."

Sebastian thought back to the details she had mentioned about her uncle, and about her family's present situation. He understood her trepidation. "Do you wish to see them?"

"…I don't know," she answered solemnly. "I haven't seen any of them in almost a week." She slowly ascended the dirty limestone steps and rested her fingers on the small wooden door. "I know I shouldn't be, but… I'm so ashamed…" she admitted quietly, just loud enough for him to hear.

"Well don't be." His voice was quiet as well, but solid with a certainty she had been faking for quite some time. "Your sacrifice for your family is a noble and selfless one. You act with the strength of twenty men in one small body, and you…" She turned to look at him and he nearly lost his breath at the appreciation in the depths of her emerald eyes. "…Are truly an amazing woman, Hawke."

Smiling, she squeezed lightly on his hand and ushered him away from the door at the sound of her mother and sister's voices inside.

"…I will visit them," she decided. "But not tonight. I don't think I'm ready."

"And in that, there is no harm," he reassured her.

"Thank you. Truly."

He offered his arm and she seemed happy to accept, linking hers beneath his and quietly exiting Lowtown's old city slums. Their peaceful and aimless stroll again worked to quiet their worried souls.

The simplicity of this night felt good. Nothing was planned and nothing was expected of either of them. Thinking back on it, Sebastian could not recall a time he had ever felt so at ease in another's presence; and the more time he spent around her, the more he found it came quite naturally.

"So," his brogue sounded, "Does the fair maiden wish anything on the eve ahead of her?"

She giggled at his superfluous pleasantries. "Oh? Are we not due to meet up with Ser Kristof and the charming Ser Brannon?"

Sebastian nearly choked at the idea of Brannon being charming and had to hold back his laughter. He eyed her playfully, a little taken aback at the accuracy in her banter despite her ignorance of their status. He'd tried so hard not to mention it, or his name. Luckily, that had become something of a game between them now, an inside joke of sorts. …But was there really much of a point in hiding it from her?

"You know, I really don't care that you're nobility."

He stopped abruptly, and the motion nearly pulled her off her feet. She turned around to face him, and suddenly he found it difficult to speak. Apparently she could read his mind, on top of everything else.

He prayed that wasn't true.

Her confusion gave way to amusement. "Come on, I'm not stupid."

He paused a moment longer and hung his head, finally allowing her words to sink in and shake him from his stupor. Sighing heavily, he let the weight just roll off his shoulders. There was nothing he could do about it now. By this point it almost felt foolish, keeping anything from her.

He laughed, despite himself. "I suppose it _is_ painfully obvious…"

She crossed her arms and tilted her head at him with a smile. "You've spent enough money on a girl you barely even know to prove you don't worry about it."

He met her eyes and mirrored her expression. "Were I a poorer man, I would have found the coin. You've been worth it."

Her smile brightened, and this time she did not try to hide her blush. "You're very sweet. So how is it that you're not married off to a cute young noble_woman_ by now?"

Sebastian fought urge to scowl. "Believe me, my parents have tried – for me and my two older brothers. _They_ may have found matches they're content with, but I can't stand the type of women that parade in and out of court. Everyone is so fake. I hate it."

"Well, well," she teased, a triumphant grin on her face. "My admirer _actually_ has a life. And a family. Here I was beginning to think you were just a figment of my imagination."

"A handsome one at that," he smirked.

She returned the gesture before turning her attention back in front of them as they started walking again. "Wherever you're from, and _whoever_ you are, your secret is safe with me." She chuckled. "Technically, I am supposed to be nobility as well, believe it or not."

Sebastian turned to regard her with heightened curiosity. "So _that_ explains the unnerving accuracy of your talent for court pleasantries."

"Just my good acting, I'm afraid," she laughed. "It's not as though I've ever _actually_ been a noble."

"…Does that have anything to do with your uncle you mentioned?"

She nodded and sighed. "It was a forgotten detail about my family's past that I only recently discovered. It would take a miracle to get any of it back."

Sebastian rolled his eyes. "You're not missing much. …I can't stand it at home," he admitted. "Kristof and Brannon are my closest friends, plus a few others who understand... We all lead double lives we don't want to."

"I know how you feel," she offered quietly.

Sebastian smiled through the self-disgust he felt rising. "There's a difference though… You are sacrificing a _lot_ more than I need to. I am just avoiding responsibility."

"But it was one that you did not ask for." She set a comforting hand on his arm. "Just give it time. You'll find what it is you're looking for, even if it lands you in dirty back alleys or unfamiliar arms," she grinned, "You'll find your calling and rise to meet it when the time is right."

He looked down at her, gratitude and wonder in his eyes. "You sound so wise for someone so young."

"…My father and mother taught me never to doubt what your heart is telling you, to always love yourself." She laughed sadly. "And here all I've been doing lately is doubting and hating myself for what I've become..." She looked up at him and offered him another smile. "I am grateful to have had the support that I did, growing up. I'm sure your parents mean well. Just try and listen. …And don't take the time you have with people for granted. You never know when you might lose them."

"Hawke…" He stopped and held her there, his hands on her shoulders as he searched her eyes. The tightness in his chest returned, along with so many questions... This uncertainty and hesitation was becoming too much to bear. He raised a hand to caress her cheek.

Would it be so bad to tell her everything?

An unfamiliar chuckle broke them from their trance and Sebastian whipped around to find the two of them were cornered in an alley, their entrance blocked by seven armored men.

"Evening, lovebirds." the largest one, their assumed leader, spoke up. "Empty your pockets…" He sent a heated look towards Hawke. "And leave the girl. If you're lucky, we _might_ spare your life."

Sebastian eyed the man dangerously, silently cursing himself for wandering dangerous parts of an unfamiliar town without a bow or anything to defend them with. Before he or the thugs had any time to think, however, Hawke was in front of the one closest her in a flash, her foot spinning into the air and connecting with his jaw. The cracking of bone sent the group immediately into action.

Adrenaline coursed through his veins as Sebastian rounded on the man running towards him, daggers in hand. In one swift motion, he ducked beneath the swing of one dagger and effectively blocked the second. He deftly knocked the wind from his assailant, causing him to fall to his knees before Sebastian brought his elbow down, hard, on his head. The daggers clattered to the ground, and before the next man was upon him, he took them up in defense, all the while desperately keeping an eye on Hawke.

She was like the wind, quick and sharp with her cuts and blows from the daggers she herself had acquired. But unlike Sebastian, she had obviously been trained as a in the art of dueling, as her arms were like liquid extensions of her body that flowed freely and gracefully with every turn, flip, and twist. She was quick, nimble, and acrobatic in her movements, and before long had felled four of the men around her – leaving the leader to stand alone in her line of sight. He moved to charge, but faltered when she practically flew through the air, coming down behind him in a series of flips and cutting through the flesh of his back.

Sebastian dropped the man he had been holding, while he and one other that she had not fatally wounded scurried away, leaving five dead bodies around a very stunned prince.

She searched their bodies, collected a whopping twenty silver and thirteen copper pieces, and stood to stare at him with a cocky wave of her hair.

"My foreign admirer," she spoke amused, a fascinated look in her eye, "is a fellow rogue?"

Normally, he might have thought to cater his wounded ego in a situation like this, but never in his entire life had he known a more enticingly attractive woman than the one standing ten feet away from him. Daggers still in hand, she flipped them once before taking a battle stance before him.

'_Oh_?'

Sure, he had been caught off guard by her skills, but she didn't actually think she could _best_ his own skills in combat, did she? True, he was naturally more gifted with a bow, preferring to fight at longer distances; but he could deal in close-quarters melee combat if need be. He smiled wickedly then, a new kind of adrenaline filling his veins as he gripped the dagger in his left hand.

And just like that, they were on each other – a friendly spar at the height of an unexpected evening – and it wasn't long before the 'friendly' competition turned into something primal and physical. Fueled by something deeper and stronger, they relished the exertion. Sweat clung to their shirts and dripped in beads from their foreheads as they spun, thrust, and dodged one another's blows, each mindful not to fatally wound one another. Their breathing came in short erratic bursts as she twisted in close enough for a lethal blow, but was stopped when a strong arm encircled her waist. As if in a standing game of twister, their limbs were tangled together in such a way that if she had wanted to, Hawke could have ended it, but she didn't. On the other hand, if she had wanted to escape, she couldn't.

They were inches apart, their breaths mingling together as a cool breeze surged through the alley they were knotted in. All else seemingly forgotten, they stared into each other's eyes. And swirling within Sebastian Vael's crystal blue depths was an emotion he had never felt before, and no one else had ever seen before.

A small sound, a whimper, almost inaudible, left her lips as he ducked his head down to capture them in a soft, loving kiss. Her eyelashes fluttered as she closed her eyes and he held her, pressing her to him with one hand at the small of her back and the other behind her neck. Soft, pliable lips melded together in a savoring warmth that satisfied the ache without a need to deepen it. Perhaps it was the thought of something happening to her tonight, or perhaps it was inevitable the way she was growing on him, but as they slowly parted, Sebastian could not mistake the goose bumps that pulsed over every inch of their skin.

This was much more.

A thundering uncertainty fell on both of them then. He could see it mirrored in her eyes as he slowly pulled away. They discarded their weapons and quickly left the alley, retracing their steps with distracted and watchful eyes.

The walk back was quiet. Once the Blooming Rose was in sight, they stopped to say something… anything… but the silence felt too heavy. Too much, too soon. A polite nod was all they exchanged before parting ways, leaving both to their thoughts as she slowly found her way back into her hell and he to his.

Hawke stared out her window, angry tears rolling down her face, as he disappeared around the corner. She promised herself she would not get attached – not to the stranger with the lovely accent, not to anyone. She promised herself. But if given the opportunity… she would break it again.

The night was empty and restless for them both, and only Sebastian knew that what had grown between them could not last. In two days he would be gone, and never had he hated an idea so vehemently. Never in his life had he cared for something, for anyone other than himself, so powerfully. Never had such fear and indecision felt so… paralyzing. But what could he do? After so many sleepless nights, he fell quickly into a fitful and exhausted slumber.

He awoke with purpose.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: _I had honestly forgotten how much fun writing is – especially fanfiction – and I am thrilled to be doing it again. I apologize if, in my haste and excitement to post and publish, I make any errors in grammar, spelling, or continuity. I know this chapter was long, but I had a lot of ground to cover – especially in my editing. ^^_ _For the record, you can expect a lot of fluff in this story. I'm a sucker for romance. _

_Thank you to those who offered their reviews, as they are always appreciated. :)_


	4. Wayward Son

The look he sent her upon shutting her door silenced her instantly.

Within seconds she was in his arms, their lips meeting in heated need before melting into a slow, languid dance between their tongues. The kiss was passionate and sensual, speaking words he wanted to say but never could find. This girl – _Hawke_ – she was beautiful, inside and out, and for the life of him he could not forget her. The times they were together both comforted and challenged him. The nights they were apart drove him near to insanity. Even now, with her soft hands squeezing his arms and her warm, pliable lips moving tenderly against his own, Sebastian could not get enough. He felt obsessed, and she felt perfect.

He wanted her to feel for him what he did for her. He wanted her to know what she had done to him, body and mind. He wanted to show her what he could give her.

"Sebastian," he breathed, causing her to pull back and look at him fully.

"What?" her kiss-swollen lips parted.

"My name," he leaned his forehead against hers, meeting her gaze. "It's Sebastian."

Her green eyes lit with excitement and she smiled, pulling him back to her. "Sebastian," she whispered as she softly grazed her moist lips over his.

The pad of his thumb leisurely traced down her neck, and his blue eyes slid closed. All else left his thoughts then.

The scorching heat of their skin, the frantic beating of their hearts, these things only served to rouse his already unsettled mind; but Sebastian could not help himself. Their breathing became labored, turning to gasps for air as he pushed her up against the wall, drowning himself and clinging to her like she was his lifeline. The way she looked, the way she smelled, felt, and tasted, and _Maker_, the sounds she made as she softly called out his name. Why hadn't he told her his name sooner? She sucked in a breath when he ground his hips against her.

He wanted her. Not just tonight, or the next – he wanted her in a way he had never wanted anything else in the entirety of his selfish life. The solution was simple: She would be his, and no one else's.

Teeth, tongue, and lips battled for control as he cupped the back of her head before hoisting her up the wall, her quivering legs wrapping around his waist. If they parted for air, it was only moments before they were back on one another, gripping and clutching as if they might disappear. Again he thrust his hips into hers when he bit down at the nape of her neck, eliciting a cry from her lips as she slid her fingernails through his hair. A shiver wracked his body as he sucked and nipped at her skin, deeply inhaling her scent. She arched into him, rolling her body and throwing her head back, moaning and sighing as shivers of her own bred waves of goose bumps over her skin. Maker, if they kept this up he'd be undone within minutes. They had only made love once before… and he had been drunk, and foolish enough to rush it. In a desperate attempt to take hold of the situation, he held her face in his hands and gently pulled her back.

"Come with me," he breathed. The words left his mouth before he could stop them. "I leave tomorrow," his eyes found hers – wide with shock while she still fought to control her own ragged breaths. "Come with me," he asked again.

"What?" she whispered, searching his eyes for answers. "I…I can't."

Her answer derailed him. He wasn't sure why, but he had expected her to say "Yes." Consequences be damned. …Did she not feel the same way about him that he did about her?

He slowly released her. Tearing his gaze away, he began to pace the room. His father had informed him last night that the four of them had scheduled passage from Kirkwall to Starkhaven at dawn. This put a damper on his plans.

"Well…why not?" he asked, his voice a little harsh from panic.

She took a step forward, her voice pleading. "…You know I can't leave my family."

"Take them with you," he tried, his pacing growing frantic. "It's easy."

"It's not as easy as you make it out to be…" She shook her head. "This is the only place my mother has left. I- I don't even know where you _live_ for Andraste's sake! I only just now learned your name…" Now she too was panicking. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I… I don't know!" Sebastian grit out, stopping to run his hands through his hair. "I didn't think I'd…like you this much," he admitted, "You were just a one-night thing at first…"

"Thanks," she crossed her arms and glared at him.

"Don't… No, I didn't mean it that way," he cursed, turning to face her, "I mean- Well, what did you expect?" he was near to shouting again. "You work in a _brothel_! If you come with me, you don't need to do that... You don't need to stay here!" He was beginning to sound desperate, and he hated himself for it.

"I told you, it's not that simple!" She tried searching his eyes out, but he fixed his gaze on her window, "My mother is tired and my sister is an _apostate_! I don't know how wealthy you are, or how you hope to right all the wrongs in my family… I don't know _anything_ about you!"

Sebastian's mind was racing and his temper rising. Beyond his shaken demeanor all he could see was rejection in place of reason. Everything was supposed to work out for him. So why wasn't this?

"Do you like it here _that_ much," he spat. "Why won't you let me help you?"

"You know that's not it…"

"Do you actually _enjoy_ all the attention? Being a whore meets your life expectations just fine, does it?"

She stared wide-eyed and took a step back as though she'd been slapped. Sebastian inwardly winced, hating himself now more than ever. He frantically searched his mind for something to mend the situation, but found only hurt and anger. Incapable of finding or forming any other words, he finally faced her fully. She looked like she was about ready to either break down into tears or lunge forward and beat the life out of him. Instead she just tore her eyes away and a single tear slid down her cheek. He still did not understand how she could turn down all that he was offering her.

"Are you coming or not?" he asked.

She did not look at him. "No."

"…Fine."

And without another word he left, storming away from her room, away from the Blooming Rose, and away from her. He did not hear her shouts or curses, would not see her cry herself to sleep, and would never know that, despite it all, she would not forget him. A whisper, his name, fell from her lips – a memory she would rather cherish than add to all the others that would surely find her that year.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: _I know this chapter was short, but I needed to counter-balance the last one; and I like it this way. xD It's the only one of its kind, I promise. _

_Where will the next installment find our hero and heroine after such partings? And will they still be the same, after so long? Answers for this and many more in the next entry! (Goodnight everybody!)_


	5. Blackpowder Promise

A prone figure lay covered in sheets, mumbling soft protests when a petite pair of hands gently shook her from her peaceful slumber.

"Five more minutes…" she muttered into her pillow.

Bethany rolled her eyes and shook her head. "So you said five minutes ago…"

A wicked smile spread over her lips as she leaned forward and touched a slender finger to the exposed skin of her sister's shoulder. Suppressing her chuckle, she sent out a tiny jolt of electricity. Hawke leapt from the bed with a squeak, tangling herself further into the covers and falling with rare inelegance onto the floor from the lower bunk of Uncle Gamlen's guestroom.

"Gah!" Hawke shouted, freeing herself from her cotton confinement. "I _hate_ it when you do that." She blew the mess of hair from her eyes and glared daggers at her sibling.

Bethany just laughed as she strutted over to the door. "Well it got you out of bed, didn't it?" She leaned against the open frame. "You've been lying on your ass for almost a week now. Come on," she smiled, "Get dressed. We're meeting that grumpy dwarf today about his expedition into the deep roads."

Hawke stood slowly to stretch her achy joints, wincing at the muffled crack that sounded from her spine. While the idea of pummeling her sister for disturbing her beauty sleep was tempting, she was right. She _had_ been a lazy ass. She chuckled at her sister's unusually crass vocabulary.

"Working with those smuggler's certainly colored up your personal dictionary," she teased. In all honesty, "ass" was probably the worst thing Bethany had ever said.

"And being cooped up in that room for a year certainly did a number on your legs," she countered with a smirk, eying the mess of bedding on the floor.

Hawke grabbed the blankets and tossed them back onto the bed in a half-assed attempt to tidy the room. In this dump, it was hard to care about keeping up appearances. But she couldn't complain.

The past year had done many things to Mara Hawke, one of which being her acceptance of the role she had played in helping her family. They were where they were, their debts repaid. Gone was the shy and timid girl, ashamed of her choices and her actions. Now she was confident, in her motives and in the self-assurance she had acquired. All she had to do was keep her priorities in line: Her family came first.

"I suppose you're right," she caved, holding her hands up in mock surrender. "I'll be sure to check my backside for mold."

"I know you needed the rest," Bethany smiled brightly. "But let us get on with our lives, and leave that mess behind us."

"I'll drink to that tonight," Hawke grinned as a shirt was thrown over her head.

"Oh, and there's a letter from Varric on the desk," Bethany called out as she left to give her sister some privacy.

A smile imprinted itself onto Hawke's face at the mention of her favorite dwarf. The younger brother to Bartrand, who was heading the deep roads expedition, Varric first met Hawke when she began taking nightly visits to the Hanged Man. After her second month working at the Blooming Rose, she had fallen into a deep and inescapable depression, drinking herself numb each night and waking up in a new bed just as often. In her darkest of moments, she had very nearly made the _worst_ decision of her entire life when he found her... It was Varric who nursed both her body and her mind back to good health, and over the many grueling months she naturally grew to confide in him, with everything. He had played a very crucial role in her life, going beyond the call of a normal friend by finding odd jobs and new ways for her to make extra money, silencing the occasional irritating customer who refused to leave her alone, or sometimes even paying up entire nights for her just so she could rest. It wasn't long before they became the best of friends.

To this day, Varric has been a treasure. Never in her life had she met a dwarf, or man for that matter, who could spin tales like his. His silver tongue was often quicker and sharper than even hers; and they've spent many laughs together, coercing their way out of tight spots or flat out convincing people that they owed them money. She laughed aloud, remembering the time when Varric had persuaded a templar that the witch-proprietor of the Rose was _actually_ a witch. It took a whole months' worth of investigations before she was cleared of her charges, and Hawke had never been happier.

Pulling on her studded leather armor and equipping her daggers, her smile widened as she inhaled and exhaled deeply. With a renewed sense of self, she left their borrowed bedroom to find Uncle Gamlen standing beside his desk, his arms crossed.

"There's some le-" he began snidely, but she held up a hand to cut him off.

"Yes, Uncle," she sighed, "I know."

She ignored her uncle's incessant mumbling as he stalked away and knelt to give their mabari, Sten, a loving scratch behind his ear. Having barely been acknowledged by Gamlen, she came to adopt the loveable oaf, and named him after her favorite male protagonist in the circling stories of the Hero of Ferelden. The tale itself held a special place in her heart, as Lothering would always be her home. And she outright respected Sara Cousland for everything she accomplished – rising to avenge her family, putting an end to the Blight... It was good to know that Ferelden was now in the hands of a strong, capable woman, and the warden-king, Alistair. The whole thing was like a fairy-tale, where the underdogs win and everyone gets a happy ending. It was utterly inspiring.

After doting on her large and energetic puppy, she finally found her way to the desk by the door, sifting through papers until she found the distinctive ink and parchment of her beloved dwarf.

'_Hawke,_

_Found a lead on some good coin. You know where to find me._

_Varric'_

"Thanks Varric," she smiled, stashing the letter with her others that filled the trunk in their room.

Before running out the door she stopped to give her mother a kiss on the cheek, promising to take care of Bethany and telling her not to wait up for them. Leandra simply smiled, her tired hazel eyes watching as her girls left once again to places beyond her protection and prayed to the Maker to guide them safely on their paths.

* * *

><p>Lowtown's air was hot and muggy, doing very little for the armored pair as they headed for the Hanged Man. Times like these made them both grateful they didn't sport heavier armor. Still, they must have looked a disheveled sight in the short walk to the tavern doors because a familiar voice immediately commented on their haggard appearance.<p>

"I'd be careful Hawke. All that lack of exercise has obviously done a toll on your health."

Hawke smiled down at Varric. "You too?" she laughed, pulling her hair away from her neck and shoulders. "Does all of Kirkwall wish to comment on how inactive I've been?"

"I think it's actually _hotter_ in here," Bethany moaned.

"That's just the stifling breath of these sad louts," Isabella chimed in. She pushed away from the bar to join them, a smirk on her lips. "They think the ale will cool them down, but it might as well be served boiled."

"And yet you keep coming back for more," Varric chuckled.

"Not for the ale," the dark Rivaini seductress purred, moving behind Hawke and giving her a playful slap on the ass. "I just enjoy the company it attracts."

"Ouch," Hawke pouted, rubbing her bottom. "Isabella, I'm tender there."

"Believe me, I know," she grinned mischievously.

"I…take it you're coming too?" Bethany shifted uncomfortably. She and the pirate got along well enough, but even though working with smugglers had loosened her up considerably, Isabella's perverse commentary and voyeuristic tendencies very much disturbed the unlearned mage.

Seeing Bethany's discomfort, while priceless, always reinforced Hawke's sense of self-worth, knowing she had succeeded in preserving the young apostate's modesty. Apart from that, the teasing was all in good fun. Isabella let on well enough like there was something between the two, but that was a long time ago, and she almost always paid for it in gold. If it moved on two legs and had working sexual parts, Isabella was bound to flirt with it anyway. One of Hawke's first female customers, they had met completely on a whim, and the master duelist took quickly to the younger girl's endearing shyness and the spitfire attitude that lay beneath. With her experience in both dueling, and with sex, she made quick work of showing Hawke everything she knew; and after many visits, the two became very good friends.

The three of them, and the impenetrable warrior-guard Aveline, were Hawke's most valued companions, as well as her lifelines in times of need. If she wasn't spending time with her family, she was likely with one or the other, although most of the time Aveline was a little too much of a stick-in-the-mud when it came to their shenanigans, so she kept to frequent, but timely, visits. Her friend in the guard had no specific interest in the expedition to the deep roads, so today would be just for the four of them.

"Ladies," Varric chuckled, "play with yourselves later." He secured his trusty crossbow, Bianca, on his back. "We've got a date with my petulant brother, and trust me, he isn't one to be stood up."

The three women followed as he strolled out of the pub, Hawke taking up the lead and not missing the groans of her party members when the heat smacked them right in the face. Summertime never did bode good feelings in her.

As the months went by, the four of them – sometimes accompanied by Aveline – did their best to right every wrong in Kirkwall's chaotic streets and earn as many sovereigns as they could get their desperate hands on. Some days were good, others… not so much; but the feel of coin in her palm grew more and more familiar, and it spurred her further and further into action. By the time another year had passed, the folks in Lowtown had come to know Hawke by name, as well as her trademark wit, stubbornness, and persistence. She moved as if urged by the cracks of invisible whips at her back – partnering in a mining business, seeing Aveline promoted to guard-captain and effectively ridding her family's estate of squatting slavers. All that remained was buying the place, and her family would finally be safe.

* * *

><p>Another summer day found four familiar faces walking the streets of Hightown, which they found themselves frequenting more and more as time went on.<p>

"Trust me Hawke, Bartrand may be an ass, but he's actually impressed with how quickly you've been making the coin you need. The expedition will undoubtedly earn us all a fortune, and then some. Yes ma'am, it won't be long now til we're all sipping fine wines and eating like the Orlesian empress…" Varric halted his attempt at a reassuring speech to catch Hawke deep in thought and mumbling to herself.

"Twenty more silver in addition to the five sovereigns from that one job…"

He shook his head as she counted out loud on her fingertips. "Hawke. You'll get the money. Don't worry." He offered a kindly pat to her shoulder.

She shook her head and looked up, flustered and embarrassed as she faced her comrades, to which Bethany gave a sympathetic smile. "You've been stressing yourself over this expedition for far too long," she agreed. "We've only got five sovereigns to go, right? Don't let it trouble you like this."

"As much as I enjoy taking advantage of Uncle Gamlen's hospitality," Hawke sighed, "I won't let this opportunity slip away, _especially_ now that we know the estate rightfully belongs to us. I'll not waste any more time getting you and mother where you belong."

She held tightly the current contract in her hand, grateful for every one of the letters that had shown up on Gamlen's desk over the past couple of years. Never once did she turn down the prospect of coin, unless it meant dealing with slavers or doing something downright wicked. Hawke may have had to revisit her moral code on several occasions, but she still knew what was right and what was wrong. All that mattered now was securing this future for her family. It was her driving force.

"_You_ deserve happiness too, sister." Bethany stepped forward to rest her hands on her shoulders. "Come on. Take the day off."

"Rounds at the Hanged Man tonight are on me," Varric nodded, "You need it, Hawke."

"Nope," Isabella chimed in, jogging to catch up with them after disappearing around Hightown's market district. "You got 'em last time, Varric. It's my turn." She flashed them an unfamiliar pouch and jingled the heavy load of coins within, a wicked smirk on her lips.

"Isabella, where did you-" Bethany started to say.

"Details, details, kitten," she snickered, "Don't get so caught up." With a smug glance, she stored the pouch in the sash at her waist and Varric could not contain his laughter as she swaggered confidently ahead of them.

The mirth was contagious, and suddenly Hawke felt some of the weight lifting from her shoulders as she looked upon her three closest friends with unmasked appreciation. Perhaps they were right. She may not have reached the point she wanted to, but that didn't mean she should be rushing through life beyond plain enjoyment.

"Hanged Man. It's a deal," she agreed with a nod.

Varric smiled and Bethany let out the breath she had been holding. "Why not head over there now?" she wondered aloud. "We've finished everything for the day, haven't we?"

"Yes," Hawke started, looking down at the paper in her gloved hand. "But we've got one more job to collect on. And it _might_ actually get us the rest of our sovereigns."

"Oh?" Varric peaked at the crinkled paper. His eyes grew wide at the memory, and he gave a joyful shout. "Coin from royalty is coin well worth the delay!"

Hawke scanned the inked lines over once more as they continued walking.

'_- S. Vael, Prince of Starkhaven'_

"This was the one we found on the chanter's board," she explained, "asking for someone to find and eliminate the mercenaries who killed his family. Remember the Flint Company we chased all across the coast?"

"Ah, yes," Isabella chimed in, a greedy smirk on her lips. "We should be getting our _weight's_ worth for a deed like that…"

Hawke spared Isabella the disappointed look, but spoke the words nonetheless. "As much as we need it, I have half-a-mind to not to accept _any_ payment from him. …I don't know what I'd do if I lost my entire family like that. Those men deserved their fates."

"Well let's not be hasty," Varric shrugged. "There's no harm in hoping we are rewarded for our efforts. …So, where are we meeting our _prince_?"

"Here, actually." Hawke looked up at the chantry exterior, the four of them – Varric especially – dwarfed by its looming stone walls. "It said he'd be here in the Chantry."

Isabella made a disapproving grunt as they climbed the marble steps. The trek didn't seem quite as bad as the one leading to Viscount's Way, but the exertion took much out of them in the sweltering heat.

"You know," Hawke braced against her knees as she caught her breath. "I don't think I've ever even been inside…"

"I don't blame you," Varric cleared his throat as he too caught his breath. "Your sister does walk around with a templar target on her forehead."

"Still," Bethany came up to admire the size of the wooden doors. "I've always wanted to come here. I may be an apostate, but I believe in the Maker just like anybody else."

"Brave words, kitten," Isabella stood to the side and crossed her arms. "Just don't try 'em on those sanctimonious prigs."

"Sounds like someone's holding a grudge," Varric eyed her as he wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"Not really," the pirate shrugged, pushing past them to open the doors. "They just keep trying to convert me. 'Save me from my wicked ways…'"

Varric's laughter carried in through the doors and into the grand halls of Kirkwall's holy ground. As they made their way down the main hall, Hawke noted the golden statute of Andraste in the distance, admiring the sheer magnitude of the stone columns and vaulted ceilings. She watched the brothers and sisters floating about with a distinguished elegance as they tended to their duties. Her eyes strayed on the altar for just a moment before the hushed sound of deep murmurs brought her gaze to rest on the back of a man in distinctive white armor, a bow and quiver slung across his back.

As she approached, a familiar forest scent greeted her nose, but the smells of incense were overpowering, making it difficult to place. She shook her head and cleared her throat as she righted her posture.

"Excuse me," she politely greeted. "Are you Messer Vael?"

The man before her visibly stiffened as she watched herself speak in the reflection of his shiny armor.

"Your family has been avenged," she assured him with a nod, a smile ready to greet him. "Rest assure-"

He turned to face her.

And time stopped, the contract slipping from her fingers and falling to the floor.

'_Oh Maker…'_

S. Vael… _Sebastian_ Vael. _Prince_ of Starkhaven?

Her 'foreign admirer' from a lifetime ago…

Only after the moisture in her eyes had dried up did Hawke find it in her to blink. Her mouth fell open as she took in the matured features of a face she had tried so hard to erase from her memory. He was taller, his shoulders broader and his auburn hair swept back just as before. Yet as she stared into those same icy blue irises, she felt as though she were looking into someone else entirely.

"…Sebastian?"

His name came out in a whisper and died on her breath as her eyes slowly narrowed. Everything got hot and hazy in that moment, and it wasn't just an effect from the weather.

Words seemed to be failing the bewildered prince as well. His brow worked itself in knots as he studied her, blinking twice.

"Hawke…"

_Her_ name, however, died not on his breath, but on a resounding slap that echoed throughout the chantry halls. A moment passed before he brought a hand up to tenderly touch his reddened cheek, his wide eyes taking in her heated ones.

"_That_ was for leaving." She stood close to him, puffing out her chest and meeting his gaze head on. "And for calling me a _whore_," she added, hands on her hips.

The few chantry members nearby quickly scurried away from the violent and dramatic scene unfolding in their halls, while Bethany, Varric, and Isabella stood back in unabashed amusement.

"Is this _the_ guy?" Isabella leaned over to the other two.

"It most certainly is," Bethany whispered, her doe eyes wide with confusion.

"No doubt about it," Varric added with a pleased chuckle. "And he's a choir boy to boot!"

They watched on in fascination as the duo exchanged a variety of facial expressions before the baffled prince opened his mouth to speak again.

"Hawke, I…"

But he was silenced once again, this time by a finger to his lips rather than a palm to his face. Before he could say another word, Hawke moved up on the tips of her toes to lean near his face, lightly brushing her lips against his cheek. Nostrils flaring, she breathed in his familiar scent, and her eyelids closed for a brief moment when she planted a slow, sweet kiss to his heated skin. When she pulled back, she met his awestruck look with a triumphant smirk that illuminated her green eyes.

"And _that_ was for coming back."

Her smile faded when she turned on her heels, leaving him awed and overwhelmed as she headed for the chantry doors. She clapped her hands and shouted behind her.

"Show's over, move out!" she commanded her bemused comrades. "Oh, and Sebastian _Vael_," she called out, her back still turned as she walked away from him. "I promise you, our conversation is not finished. But right now...I need space."

The jarring thud of the heavy doors effectively sealed her departure.

"…At least she's honest," Varric shrugged, eyeing the mystified chantry brother. "Most women don't just come out and tell you what they need," he laughed as he jogged ahead to follow Bethany.

"_And_ she has good taste," Isabella sized him up briefly before trotting alongside the others as they left back out the way they came.

And just like that, the girl from his past had come and gone, a sting to his cheek and a sweet lingering scent the only proof she was ever there in the first place. Despite the shocked and outrageous looks the brothers and sisters were sending him, Sebastian could not hold back the smile that touched his lips. She was even more beautiful than he had remembered.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: _And the story progresses! (yay.) I'd like to take this time to officially explain that the entire premise of this story (mainly chapters 1-4) is a complete, and intentional, portrayal of an alternate version of Hawke before she was the heroine. I realize that some of the details seem a little stretched at first, but I made sure to tie everything together so that the plot kept a certain consistency as the story progressed into more familiar territory. My aim was to work in a situation where perhaps there would have been more reason for Sebastian to consider being with Hawke – give him the push he needed, so to speak.  
>And now, he's officially been pushed. ;)<em>

_Thank you, readers and reviewers!_


	6. Blackpowder Courtesy

It wasn't long after the evening sermon before the members of the congregation stood to leave. The bustling feet and hushed murmurs gradually faded away, leaving naught but silence in the dim candlelight. Square-tipped fingers deftly extinguished each flame, a first of many routine tasks before turning in for the night. The brother's mind was far from ease, but the monotony of his tasks offered, at the very least, some fragment of solace.

He tried to forget her, really he did. Two years had come and gone, and Sebastian found himself wondering where all that time had carried off to.

In the weeks that followed Hawke's unexpected appearance, he had done his very best to busy himself with duties around the Chantry - leading the chant, blessing injured souls, even organizing every scrap of paper in the archives - _anything_ to get her out of his head. Distracting himself, however, was proving rather impossible these days. It was getting more and more difficult to ignore the overwhelming distress building within his mind, and life was once again throwing him a new obstacle to overcome. The moment he had found his faith, it seemed, there were infinite trials lined up to test it. And after this last one, he wasn't sure how much more he could take.

His preoccupied hands slowed as he piled up the last of the scattered textbooks, his gaze softening as he stared down at the signet ring on his left hand.

"Still awake?" a tender voice called from behind.

Sebastian jumped and spun around to bow his head. "Grand Cleric," he breathed, peaking up at her from beneath his brow line. "My apologies. I did not hear you approach."

"Forgive me, child." Her padded feet gently shuffled forward as she came to stand beside him. "I did not mean to startle you," she smiled, watching him put the last of the texts away before he turned to face her fully. "...I could not help but notice that you have seemed rather detached as of late. Is there something you would like to discuss?"

Sebastian's face grew pensive and his troubled blue eyes met her soft brown ones. "…With all due respect, your grace, it is no secret that we disagree on the matter."

"You may have strayed down a path I cannot follow, Sebastian, but that does not mean I will turn a blind eye to your suffering." She held her hands in front of her as she spoke, her voice a blanketing whisper upon the comfortable silence. "I see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice as you carry the Chant of Light, and I fear this sickness will consume you from within if left unattended." She touched a reassuring hand to his. "I have not yet, nor will I ever, abandon you in your dark hours."

Sebastian dropped his gaze as he felt her wrinkled fingertips meet the skin of his knuckles, warm and welcoming as they always have been. In his eyes, Elthina was the perfect embodiment of a pure Andrastian – in her unfathomable kindness, infinite wisdom, and saint-like patience – and he was certain there was no better fit for the role of Grand Cleric. It was she who had introduced to him this level of peace and contentment, and for that and all her good nature she'd held a very special place in his heart… especially after the death of his family.

"Do you remember what I told you, the day you first arrived here?" She gently moved her hand to usher him away from his duties and into a leisurely stroll.

"Aye." A tired smile spread over his face. "I do."

"Lay down your burdens, child," she repeated warmly, "Find rest and reassurance in the Maker's hands and let him find your soul safe passage to recovery."

Sebastian gave a terse laugh. "I try not to remember my response to such benevolent advice."

"I believe you made some allusions to my bitterly empty love-life, comparing me to the sleeve of an old mage's cloak. …I still don't quite understand the implications," she admitted with a shrug.

He shook his head and sighed. "I am set to waste away in the void for it, I assure you."

"Nonsense," Elthina chuckled. "You were young, and reasonably angry."

"Youth is no excuse for such crass and unacceptable behavior, least of all to one such as you. And losing oneself out of anger is no better. I was upset with my parents more than with you."

"Life passes us by faster than we would like… But give yourself time. You are still young, and you still have plenty to grow and learn from." She paused by the fireplace, its glow softly outlining their features. "You know, when your father first came to me, I was a little curious at his request to take you in. I did not think it would do you any good, setting the whole thing up without your knowledge, or your blessing. But upon seeing your reaction, I believe I understood his trepidation."

Sebastian's eyes lost themselves within the crackling flames. He could still hear his mother's last words to him so clearly in his mind: _"This is for your own good. For _once_ in your life, Sebastian, just _listen_ to us." _She had pleaded immensely with him when he had practically raised the palace grounds after discovering his fathers' intentions; and when the coach arrived to take him away, he had never felt more alone in his entire life.

He shut them out. He ignored his fathers' pleas and his mothers' cries and well wishes, and left quietly. Compliantly. Rashly. He left them, left Starkhaven, left it all behind. And all that has since filled that emptiness is shame and regret.

"Your parents loved you, Sebastian." She placed a hand on his armored shoulder, but he did not meet her eyes.

His gaze found its way back to the ring on his hand. "…I know." He swallowed thickly. "I just can't believe that I never…got the chance to tell them anything – to tell them that I was sorry, that they were right..." He balled his left hand into a fist. "All that bitterness and resentment," he laughed wretchedly, "To have finally let it all go and never get to tell them… I feel so _empty_. And yet...full of something else."

"You have come a long way from the boy that arrived on our doorsteps all those years ago." She sought his eyes. "But do not allow this weakness to hinder your judgment or poison your mind with warped justifications of your vengeance. Remember child: _Death_ is never justice."

He did not look at her, could not tear his eyes from the flames, and Elthina took that time to politely bow and take her leave. There was nothing she could do. Nothing, not even his unshakable faith in the Maker could quell the vengeful spirit inside him. He could not just ignore the fact that the filth who ordered the slaughter of his family still lived, undiscovered, unpunished and unrepentant for their crimes. He would not rest easy until he saw them brought to justice; even if it meant going against the Grand Cleric's request, and against everything the Chantry stood for. These murderers cost him his closure, his chance at complete and total redemption, and _time_ he would never get back... They took everything from him.

Using his hands, Sebastian propped himself against the mantle of the fireplace, it's radiance gleaming in the reflections of his eyes and armor. The last thing the exiled prince had expected was having a good portion of that justice hand-delivered to him by _Hawke_, of all people. ...It had been hard enough forgetting her the first time around.

Just three nights ago he had seen her, whisking her way through the courtyards below the Chantry, accompanied by two unfamiliar mages and a very menacing looking elf. And just as before, she was slowly but surely invading his thoughts and depriving him of sleep, leaving him constantly wondering about where she was or how she was faring. When last they had spoken, she'd asked that he keep his distance, and he was ashamed to admit it but he had been terribly relieved. What would he even say to her? "_Hey? How's it been?"_ He shook his head. It wouldn't be as simple as just 'catching up.' Apparently though, she no was no longer confined to the Rose. ...Maker only knows how she's earning coin these days. And judging by the kinds of people she attracts... His brows furrowed at the thought of other men who might have… Was she _with_ anyone now?

'_Maker forgive me. That is not my place,'_ he chided himself. Too easily his thoughts carried him away to places he needn't wander.

Sebastian exhaled deeply, fully aware that his mind would not grant him a moment's peace whenever Hawke was involved, and ran a hand over his face and hair. Regaining what little self-composure he had left, he left to seek direction through prayer.

* * *

><p>"…Hawke?" Varric leaned over and waved a hand in front of her eyes. "You alive in there?"<p>

"Unfortunately," she grumbled, her head falling heavily into her folded arms. "Could you remedy that? I have some poisons, if you need them."

Varric crossed his arms. "Ancestors. Was that an _intentional_ pun?" He pinned her with a scrutinizing gaze. "That's very unlike you."

"Indeed it was," she sighed. "Now I definitely deserve it. I won't even bother fighting back."

Varric leaned back in his chair and studied her. They had been discussing preparations for the expedition after reviewing the maps they'd acquired from the warden-apostate, Anders, talking casually in his cozy suite. After Bethany left though, her depression had grown too obvious to ignore.

"Come on Hawke. We've already found the broodiest elf in all of Thedas, _and_ a hyper-emotional mage; and three stormy clouds is _two_ too many in quaint group such as ours. It'll block out all my natural sunshine!" He eyed her as she furrowed her brows and slumped back against her chair. "…You know I was wondering how long it would take before you'd need to talk about this. What did I tell you about bottling things up inside that pretty little head for too long?"

"I know, I know," she exclaimed, rubbing her palms over her tired eyes. "I _tried_, Varric. I tried _so_ hard to think about other things… Bloody _flames_, I think I've run out of people with problems to fix! I can't stay busy enough… I can't stop _thinking_ about him!"

"_So_?" He leaned forward. "Go see him." He chuckled and shook his head. "I still can't get over the fact that this is the same man who beat me at Wicked Grace. There aren't too many who can boast a feat like that. The guy didn't strike me as a choir boy."

"That makes two of us," she frowned. "I suppose I barely knew him then. It took _days_ just to get his name…"

Varric shrugged. "People change, Hawke. And everyone's got their reasons… You of all people should know that."

She stared blankly out at nothing. "…I know. …But-"

"Just do it," he cut her off, a knowing smile egging her on. "Unless, you don't think you have it in you…"

"…"

"_Just think of it as a challenge,"_ his smug voice echoed in her head. _"You'll never know until you try…"_

She stood like a stone golem outside the Chantry doors, fists at her sides and a fierce look of determination on her face. Beneath the surface, however, it was a whole other story.

"I hate you Varric," she grunted. But that was a lie. She knew that his mind games had served their purpose and given her the balls she needed to act – hypothetically speaking, of course. Maker knows if she hadn't come as soon as she did, he'd have conjured up all sorts of bets and wages between Isabella and the others just to make this more entertaining, at her expense. And this was not amusing in the least.

Even, steady breaths forced their way through her lungs while the wind in the night air fluttered her hair around her – a visual parallel to the feelings swirling within. Abruptly she turned on her heels, but stopped and turned again, and again. In fits of circles, her feet eventually carried her out and over to the balcony overlooking Hightown, lit brightly beneath the waxing moon. Her eyes shone vibrantly, but stared vacantly out at nothing as she silently fought against the disquiet in her soul, against returning feelings that she was ill equipped to handle.

And unwilling to think about.

Brushing her hair away from her eyes, she muttered curses under her breath as she turned to leave, but found her attempts thwarted by a steel wall.

"Ouch." She stumbled backwards, but two dexterous hands held her suspended in midair.

"Hawke?"

She blinked and looked down at the gloved fingers gently supporting her as she righted herself, swallowing the lump in her throat and begrudgingly reasoning that it was too late to flee.

"…What are you doing out here?"

That lovely, unforgettable accent sounded in her ears – the slightest bit deeper – and her heart skipped a beat.

"Just…" Her gaze slowly wandered up to meet his icy blue eyes. "Enjoying the view." She grinned sheepishly. "The thugs in Hightown are lovely this time of night."

Sebastian's gaze fell as he chuckled softly, and it was then that his remarkable scent washed over her, now enriched by the intoxicating aroma of candles and incense. His tanned skin appeared lighter in the moonlight, and she took the time to really appreciate the new look – his magnificent white armor glistening as he smiled down at her. …Maker, was he always this handsome?

"The jest and wit doesn't fool me." His voice was gentle. "You still go to great lengths to hide your discomfort."

"That may be true," she shrugged. "But the new line of work doesn't fool me either." Mischief lit her eyes. "You still can't keep your hands off me."

He looked down and immediately released his hold, muttering apologies and forming a courteous amount of space between them. "I…" He cleared his throat. "It is very late. Why are you here?"

She eyed him skeptically, quirking a brow at his unusual prudence. "I did tell you I'd be back… Remember?"

"Yes..." He was struggling to hold her gaze. "But I didn't think it would _actually_ happen..."

She sent him a pointed look and he immediately shook his hands out in front of him.

"No, wait. That sounded bad. I…I didn't mean-"

"No, it's okay. Really." She looked away and rubbed the back of her neck. "This was a stupid idea anyway. Maker, I didn't even know what I would say to you... I just…" She sighed, dropping her hand and staring out into the streets. "I am leaving. Tomorrow."

His silence gave her reason to chance a glimpse in his direction, and she met with wide and worried eyes. Evidently the irony of the situation was not lost on either of them. The last time they had parted, she stood in his place.

"Not permanently," she quickly amended. "I've just recently gathered all the funds I need for the Deep Roads expedition. So I…came to say goodbye. Wish me luck?" She smiled awkwardly.

This was getting painful. Nothing was going as smoothly as it should have, and everything that came out of her mouth always sounded way better in her head. If the Maker had any pity, he would strike her down where she stood and spare them both any further humiliation.

He tensed considerably. "The Deep Roads are…dangerous, Hawke," he warned, his eyes scanning hers. "What is it you hope to find down there? Is it really necessary you go?"

"I have been saving every last coin I could spare for years now," she explained. "This expedition is my family's ticket out of Lowtown… When I come back, I'll be a lot wealthier-"

"_If_ you come back," he corrected. "Is any amount of money really worth throwing your life away?"

She put her hands on her hips. "Sorry, but I've never really _had_ the choice. My family has had nothing for as long as I can remember, and _that_ was enough. …But losing my father and brother, _that_ was too much." She searched his eyes, seeking that familiar territory. "I _am_ going to get my family back the life they deserve. I've come this far and you know damned well I am _not_ giving up."

Sebastian shook his head and looked away, laughing quietly. "Still just as stubborn… Some things never change."

"Apparently not." She crossed her arms and sent him a meaningful look. "You're still trying to tell me what to do."

He frowned and shifted his weight. "Look, I didn't mean to start a fight…"

"Yet here we are again," she sighed, pinning him with a glare. "You know, as much as I love sharing heated discussions with you, we could easily avoid them if you would just have a little more faith in me."

The look on his face revealed only his apprehension. "It is not a lack of faith in _you_, but in the indefinite dangers you face. So much is uncertain..."

Emboldened by his concern, she took a step forward and held his gaze. "And you should know better than I, choir boy:" She grinned. "_That_ is why it's called _faith_."

He was speechless for a moment, and she decided it best to leave then. Seeing him again, being so close and speaking again… Despite the two years they had spent apart, it was too much too soon. She had spoken her peace and there was nothing more to be said or done. It was hard enough keeping herself together, and she had very little confidence in her ability to maintain this bravado. Quietly and purposefully, she brushed past him, her hair blowing gently behind her, and hoped that the Hanged Man would do well to ease her twitchy nerves.

"Hawke, wait."

Her footsteps stopped at the top of the stairs and she turned her curious green eyes in his direction.

This time it was he who took a bold step forward.

"I owe you an apology." He held her gaze. "When last we spoke I was…unkind to you. You did not deserve it."

She tilted her head to the side, listening intently.

"For what it's worth now, I am sorry."

She paused, hesitantly turning to stare down the long set of stairs ahead of her. After a moment, she slowly walked back to stand a comfortable distance in front of him. A heavy sigh fell from her lips as she looked up at him. She was tired of feeling like complete strangers.

"I'm sorry too, Sebastian. ...Andraste's flaming sword," she berated herself, "I should have asked you this sooner…" She searched his eyes. "What happened to your family?"

Her question obviously derailed him, and she watched as he blinked and swallowed thickly. After a nearly a minute of silence, he sighed quietly.

"It would appear I've been caught up in political crossfire." A smile ghosted across his face. "And even if it were by mere chance that you intervened, know that you have my eternal gratitude, stepping in as you did. It is comforting to think my parents might now rest easily in their graves..."

His gaze fell, but her expectant eyes were still fixed on him. "...Do you know who _sent_ those mercenaries?"

He looked thoughtful. "My family has ruled Starkhaven for six generations. We have enemies, but none who would identify themselves openly," he explained. "A distant cousin of mine is claiming ruler-ship now, but he is…a bit simple. He can be no more than a pawn in this plot."

She followed each word closely with narrow, contemplative eyes. "Surely you have a guess as to who was behind it."

"My parents were always…prudent…in how they handled our nobles. They did not allow rivalries or resentments to flourish." He shook his head. "The attack _must_ have come from outside. Kirkwall is our largest trading partner," he reasoned. "I was hoping to find support for my claim and perhaps a clue as to who is behind this _foul_ deed."

"Not even a suspicion?" She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "Why didn't your families enemies hunt _you_ down as well?" she asked, a tinge of hesitancy in her voice.

"That's why I took the offensive," he reasoned. "Thanks to you, those Flint Company assassins are no longer a danger."

"But surely more will come when they learn of your survival." It was her turn to look concerned.

"It's a safe bet; I'm the last of my line." He stared off into the distance. "That is why I hope to reveal these conspirators before I am discovered. Unless I survive, my family will have no justice."

She grew quiet, her eyes following his out into the night. "…No one should have to lose their family; not like that. …I know it doesn't mean much to your parents now," The corner of her mouth twitched into a pained smile. "But I hope you can at least rest a bit easier at night, for the time."

"Yes," he chuckled softly, "I hope I will…" He stopped to pull out a leather pouch, extending it to her warmly. "I intended to thank you properly for your help. When I have secured my lands again, you will be paid royally. ...Would you accept this payment as an advance?"

She crossed her arms and raised her brows as she looked from the pouch up to him.

"I guess I should have known better." He stored his coin away.

Staring back down the steps, she paused. "…Will you let me know? When I get back, I mean." She turned to face him. "I want to help you see this through."

"Hawke…" He smiled at her. "You don't have to-"

"If you wish to repay me, and you are truly apologetic, you will let me." She too smiled, genuinely, for the first time that night. "Besides, I haven't _actually_ forgiven you yet. You'll be needing my full pardon if you ever wish to live out a peaceful life."

His blue eyes met with hers, lit with amusement. "I hope, then, that you will be careful in those roads, my lady. Lest I live out a dreary and unfulfilled existence without your blessing."

"A courtesy," she grinned, turning from him and walking slowly back towards the steps. "I'll be harassing you until I get a proper explanation. Now you've got plenty of time to practice and rehearse before I return."

"...Good luck Hawke."

"...Goodbye Sebastian." She flashed him a small smile before quietly descending back into Hightown.

Exhaling deeply, she let out the breath of air she had been holding, finally feeling her heart beginning to settle. With lighter, albeit shaken steps, she turned and made her way back to the Hanged Man, where her dwarven companion sat, mug in hand and a smug, knowing look waiting to greet her.

"Shut up."

She ordered herself a round and downed it instantly. Things were getting complicated again. And, Maker willing, this expedition would be just what she needed to make everything simple.

* * *

><p>The day finally came when the city was buzzing with gossip, word even breaching the walls of the Chantry through comers and goers: after three long months, the Deep Roads expeditionary had finally returned.<p>

Many sleepless nights had followed Hawke's departure, for she had neglected to mention any hint or approximation of the _length_ at which she would be gone. Many times Sebastian had prayed, begging the Maker to reward his faith and patience with even the slightest knowledge that Hawke was alive. Nothing else ever worked to calm his nerves. But as time went on, it grew difficult to contain the bouts of anxiety. Never in his life had time seemed so paralyzing, his resolve and composure so near the verge of breaking. And now, knowing she was so close again, Sebastian could not contain his excitement or his panic, for every hour that passed without any sign of her only fueled his growing agitation.

Daylight faded slowly, the night sky darkening like the shadow in his mind, and soon he was alone, pacing the main hall of the Chantry and on the brink of heading into the Deep Roads himself when one of the doors slammed open. The wind from outside nearly snuffed out the remaining candlelight as rain poured in to soak the stone floors.

"Hawke?"

He did not care to hide the desperation in his voice as he took a wary step forward, but just as soon as all hope had returned, it shattered at the sight of a distinctive wrinkled hand.

The elderly Chantry archivist shuffled by, pulling his drenched cloak away from his face as his worn leather boots squished and splashed with every step that echoed in the quiet halls.

"Be careful. Bad storm out tonight," the old man called out as he ascended the stairs.

Sebastian cursed under his breath and stalked off to his room. It was common knowledge now that Hawke did not allow him to find sleep; but there was little else he could do. And so he tossed and turned, unable to rid himself of the nightmarish thoughts that plagued his mind. So much had gone wrong over the past few years. So much could _still_ go wrong.

Not two hours after he entered his chambers he left again, seeking urgent guidance in the only way he knew how. As he approached the upper level pews, however, he noticed a lone figure in the corner, slouched and facing the statue of Andraste.

He slowly circled around as he drew near, not daring to hope that it was her, but beneath that familiar curtain of hair, her quiet words reached his ears.

"I can't tell if these halls are calming or creepy. The eyes of these statues follow you everywhere..."

Relief shook him to the very core. She was alive. His joy could have filled the entire expanse of the Chantry, but his thoughts were cut short by the unsettling tone in her voice – something beneath her usual sarcasm that caught him off guard as her words registered in his ears.

"Hawke?" He approached her with controlled steps and took a seat beside her.

The light of the fire from below was one of few that remained lit during the late – or early – hours. It cast a soft glow to outline their features as they spoke, their voices quiet in comparison to the echoing sounds of the storm over Kirkwall. Her shoulders were tense and her face was veiled behind loose, damp ringlets of dark hair, drops of rain falling off their ends every now and then and splashing atop her studded leather armor. Small beads of water had collected on her light skin and they steadily rolled along the curves of her face and arms; but she seemed to pay them no mind. When she finally sat up he was able to see her eyes, brimming with unshed tears. Apart from her storm-drenched appearance, she looked as though she hadn't moved in days.

"The Maker and I have not always been on the best of terms, but now I have to wonder if he's got it out for me..." She attempted a chuckle.

"Hawke, are you all right? …Did something-"

"She's gone." Her voice lost its humor and her eyes stared straight ahead. "Bethany's gone. And I don't know if I'll ever see her again."

"Maker's breath, what happened down there?" He tried to meet her eyes, but it was as if she were frozen, a strain in her eyes and in her posture that made it feel like any minute she would crumble and fall apart.

"It was the blight. The corruption got inside of her." Her body trebled slightly. "I know I…should be grateful. Anders, the mage who helped get us there, he… found Grey Wardens along our path, said there was a chance Bethany would live through the Joining…" She dropped her head and chuckled darkly. "I can't believe we kept her from the templars all this time, just to have the Blight take her away, like Carver, like everything else in my life…" A shuddering sigh fell through her lips, and she took in a deep breath to look up at the ceiling. "You were right," her voice cracked. "I got us back in to Hightown, and it likely cost me my sister's life. We were lucky we even found a way out…"

"Hawke, I am so sorry," He shifted closer to her, hesitant to reach out. "…Were you in great danger?"

"What does it matter?" she scoffed. "We all got out. All except for her." She brought her hands up to cover her face. "It should have been me. This is all my fault-"

"Don't you say that." He took her hands in his and brought them down to his lap. "I'll wager I could search this city a thousand years and never find anyone more dedicated to their family." He gave her hands a gentle squeeze. "Look at me."

He searched her eyes when she finally lifted her gaze.

"You are _not_ to blame, for anything that's happened. Your sister _chose_ to brave those roads with you, just as you chose to brave them in the first place. You are both strong, capable women, and you made those decisions with noble cause."

He watched as she blinked away the tears in her eyes, a flash of emotions raging within her emerald irises.

"Bethany's path will be of her own making," he smiled, assured with his own words, "Her life is in the Maker's hands now; have faith in his will."

She paused, seeming to weigh his words, before laughing wistfully. "I have had many things – persistence, tolerance, determination, even dumb luck – but faith…is not one of my strong suits. Especially not now."

"But what is faith," he put his finger beneath her chin to hold her gaze, "If we don't lose it every once in a while?"

Her eyes searched his in that moment, and he made sure she would find only sincerity within. He could not change what was done in the past, the things that may have happened while they were apart; but if he could be an ear to listen again, a shoulder to cry on, he would be, without hesitation. She deserved that and so much more than he could give.

"If you ever need to talk, I will be here to listen."

She sniffed softly and dragged a hand over her face as she looked up at him. "Thank you, Sebastian." Her voice held a level of gratitude he was sure he did not deserve, but he watched as she breathed deeply through shaken lungs. "It's…nice to know," she smiled, "Even after all this time…"

Her eyes grew distant once more and pulled away from his a moment. He lost himself as he watched a bead of water roll from the tip of her nose over her reddened lips, and when she licked her lips and parted them to speak again, he felt a stirring within him that he had long since forgotten. He had not had the time to entertain such thoughts, his dedication to the Chantry... His vows...

"Did you…" She turned to face him, her voice tearing him from his thoughts. "Did you learn anything more about your family's murderers?"

Her sincerity touched him, brought a smile to his lips as he looked into her eyes, unsurprised that she had kept true to her word. Also slightly overwhelmed at the days events. Life never seemed to make up its mind in how fast it chose to pass him by. All he knew was that she was alive, and that seemed enough. But being so close to her again was reviving feelings he was unsure he wanted to confront. And now, even after all this time... to know how much she cared was both humbling and perhaps not so surprising.

The turn in conversation, however – discussing his family – pulled him back to reality and brought a crushing awareness of the past few years' events.

"I have indeed learned who hired Flint Company. The Harimann's – a noble family of Kirkwall," he announced quietly, casting an angry glance at the floor. "They were my parents allies. It's hard to believe they betrayed us like this…"

"What do you know about them?" she asked, the concern in her voice still prevalent.

"Lord Harimann used to be a good man," he recalled. "But he became rather strange in his dotage… He died some years back. His daughter took over the family, Lady Johane Harimann; they say she's become quite reclusive of late."

"…Any idea _why_ they turned on you?"

"Money. Power. It's hard to say…" his clipped tone could not speak loud enough on his disapproval, abusing ones title in such a way. "Lady Harimann was always jealous of my family for being royalty when hers were mere nobility. But I can't imagine that pushing her into outright murder. I would like to confront her…but I know I cannot go alone-"

"No." Her stern voice surprised him. "If she is indeed guilty, we cannot risk that. The Harimann's deserve justice, and we will bring it to them. But you will not do it alone."

Her eyes were like steel as they bore into on his, revealing a fire that he had seen once before, more alive with her freedom and strengthened in her losses. He found himself mesmerized by her doubtless determination, a fire of his own lighting in his crystal blue eyes and calling out for the vengeance he craved.

"I have some trustworthy connections," she assured him with a smile, "in low _and_ high places – including the guard, if you'll recall. I won't stop at Flint Company. I will see this to the end, and help you avenge your family."

He smiled at her. Already he was remembering why it was so hard to forget her.

"Let's go." Her quiet voice broke him from his silent reverence.

"Beg your pardon?" he blinked in surprise.

She stood quietly and adjusted the straps of her armor, still wet from earlier. "The rain sounds like it has stopped. I don't like having to whisper."

"But…" He stood to follow her as they quietly headed down the flight of stairs between upper and lower floors. "Where are we going?"

She smiled up at him. "For a walk."

Moments later they were in the streets, the moon at its highest and the air at its coolest. The rain had indeed stopped, and the remnants of the downpour left massive streams of water running throughout the city. As her leather clad boot splashed in a nearby puddle, Hawke breathed in deeply.

"Sorry. The Chantry's nice and all, I just…needed some fresh air."

"I understand, believe me." Sebastian suddenly realized just how much he'd been cooped up inside its walls.

The sound of their armored footsteps were deafening in the silence of the city, but the air felt good on his lungs and the growing familiarity put a smile on both their faces as they made their way out of Hightown.

"Speaking of the Chantry..." She nodded slowly, her lips puckered thoughtfully as she brought her eyes to his. If she was trying to hide her smile this time, she was not doing a very good job. "…Mind explaining that one?" she laughed.

"Ah," Sebastian stretched and rolled his shoulders as they walked. "I suppose to you it might seem a bit…"

"Uncharacteristic?" she giggled.

He sighed but kept a light smile. "Sadly, your skepticism is well warranted. I, myself, was quite astounded. There were times when I couldn't stand being in there another minute. But every time I fled," he chuckled, "I always found myself returning the next day."

Her eyes widened slightly. "You've seemed…very dedicated to the Chantry, from what I've seen. Are you saying you were put there against your will?"

"At first. But it _was_ the best thing that could have happened."

Hawke arched a brow. "I may be a little new to the Free Marches, but I know my geography well enough to know that Starkhaven is a good distance from here, almost half-way to Antiva. …Why would your parents force an heir to the throne into the Chantry? And so far away…"

It hit him then that despite their…history, Hawke knew very little about his life. Part of him felt incredibly guilty, knowing she'd been kept in the dark on so many details when he'd gone and pried so much out of her… But here was his chance to make it up to her – a foundation for something real.

"I'm the youngest son of three," he explained. "My father and mother were…rather traditional. They wanted the heir and the spare, and I was left in the cold." He stopped to offer a light smile. "When I…first met you, I had come to Kirkwall with my father, supposedly on a whim. …But it turned out his intentions were to set up arrangements with the Grand Cleric and put me in the Chantry to prevent my competing with my other brothers. As for the reason behind the location, Starkhaven's Chantry is considerably small, and I believe Grand Cleric Elthina was close friends with my parents."

"Still…" She tilted her head. "That seems a little harsh."

He gave her a sheepish grin. "I was a wild boy, if you recall – a shame to my family. I was sent there for more reasons than one. …But my parents were right, though; it was for the best. The Chantry made me a man." He nodded in strong belief of his words.

Hawke regarded him silently for a moment. "But you're still a prince, and now the only possible heir…"

"Her Grace might prefer I introduce myself as a brother in the Chantry. But after what happened to my family, I could not stay..."

"Ah. I imagine they would disapprove of your vengeance."

There was a pause in conversation, and he watched the features of her face shift with every piece of newfound information. As they found themselves wandering through Lowtown, he let out a miserable sigh. There was no escaping this any longer. There was no more reason to.

"I am sorry I never told you any of this sooner."

He found both patience and expectedness reflecting in her green eyes when she spared him a sideways glance.

"So why didn't you? You had to know I was still in Kirkwall."

"To tell you the truth… I don't know whether to blame fear, stubbornness, immaturity, or a horrid combination of the three," he admitted. "If it's any consolation, I feel quite the fool."

"…Admitting to be a fool doesn't hurt your case much." She kept her eyes forward as they strolled at a comfortable pace through Lowtown's streets. "I told you when I returned that I would accept your apology, if certain demands were met..." She let out a tired sigh. "I guess I'm ready to get over it."

"This may come as a surprise to you," he smiled, also keeping his eyes forward. "But I took no pleasure in keeping anything from you."

The corner of her mouth twitched into a smirk. "And here I thought you kept your life a secret just to add to the mystery. I thought you just wanted to tease me."

"As entertaining as that would have been," he chuckled, "it truly tormented me, holding it all in. But it was the one thing my father asked of us – discretion."

"I suppose I can understand the Prince of such a nation asking as such, especially when those in question were constantly inebriated."

He laughed shamefacedly. "If it weren't so painfully obvious a statement, I'd compliment your perception. Although to be fair, Brannon was the only one who had trouble holding his ale."

At this they both laughed, a memory of a time when the rest of the world didn't seem to matter so much. The mood lightened significantly.

"It certainly added to the persona," she chuckled. "All I had to go off of was a couple mismatched tavern stories. And despite your evident wealth, I never would have guessed that you were _royalty_." She pinned him with a pouting glare. "You were so good at diverting and avoiding all my questions."

"_That_," he laughed ruefully, "unfortunately, just comes naturally with life at court."

"Politics as usual, huh?" she grinned. "Although, while you _were_ persistent in some regards, you never really came off that pompous or showy like most other nobles."

"It was…quite easy to relax around you," he admitted. "To just…be myself." His eyes stared blankly at the passing stone beneath. "Until I met you, I'd never known the feeling of… letting my guard down, not around anyone."

"Even your friends?" She turned to look at him.

"To an extent. We all shared a distaste for the lifestyle, but it was easy to get…caught up in the vices. Life consisted of grumbling about our responsibilities while constantly enjoying the pleasures of instant gratification. We were quite the hypocrites."

She laughed. "You know, I really liked Kristof and Brannon. Do you miss them?"

He looked thoughtful as they approached one of the edges overlooking the water. "Everything seems like its fading into a distant memory now, but a part of me misses what I left behind in Starkhaven. I'm sure you feel similar with Lothering."

"I do," she smiled, staring out at the muted magenta skies. "Ferelden will always be my home. So far, Kirkwall has been a poor substitute."

"When did you leave the Rose, if you don't mind me asking?"

"A little more than a year ago." Her gaze remained flat, her tone uninterested. "I accept what I've done to help my family, but I'd rather forget the place all together. I've had to go inside once or twice since then, but if I had any say, I would rather just watch it burn."

"Understandably so..."

"But I do have some friends I'd like you to meet," she smiled up at him. "I had to find other ways to earn some honest coin – well…mostly honest – and I guess my efforts are paying off. I've moved up in the world," she glanced back at Hightown. "Literally."

"Indeed you have. You've done well, Hawke." Sebastian smiled as he watched her. "I doubt any other in your place would have made it this far. Kirkwall is lucky to have you."

"I don't know if anyone can help this damned city," she sighed. "I'm just…looking out for my family, and my friends. If there's one thing here I _am_ grateful for," she paused to peak up at him from beneath her lashes. "...It's the company."

He looked down at her and found himself drowning in her intense green eyes, fighting to control the rapid beating of his heart.

How long had it been? How many nights did he lie awake, aching to reach out and touch her again? Forgetting her had all but killed him, and finding her again had left him feeling paralyzed. And his vows... Did the Maker think it part of some humorous scheme to bring her back into his life after allowing him to swear vows he could not break? Spurred by feelings he had long since buried, he brought an unsteady hand up but stopped it in midair as he hesitantly held her gaze.

"…Sebastian Vael," she huffed quietly, "I assure you I carry no plague and caught no diseases working at the Blooming Rose." She reached for his hand and brought it back to cup her face. "Stop…being so afraid of me."

He was unable to stop himself as those eyes worked to dismantle him all over again. Her face was so soft beneath his fingertips, and his eyes involuntarily slid shut as he fought against many urges in that moment. His senses were overwhelmed, burned with memories of her.

"Hawke…"

"Mara." He opened his eyes to find her grinning and extending her open hand. "My name is Mara. We should do this properly."

Sebastian's blue eyes lit up as he slowly took her hand in his. "Properly?"

"Like we're just…two people," she smiled at him.

"Well then, _Mara_ Hawke," he brought her hand up to place a gentlemanly kiss to her knuckles. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you," His mirth reflected vibrantly in his eyes.

"And you, Sebastian _Vael_." She giggled as they shook hands. "_Prince_ of Starkhaven," she added, a light blush coloring her cheeks, "It is an honor to make your acquaintance."

Their hands continued to shake slowly before they both burst out into laughter, each spurred by the other as they struggled to catch their breaths. He looked down at her then, caught up in the moment and enraptured by the radiant light of the rising sun, illuminating her eyes and-

"_Sweet Andraste's knickers_, is that the _sun_?" Hawke cursed and began a steady power walk back towards Hightown.

Sebastian simply laughed and trotted forward to keep up behind her. Beneath her string of curses, he could discern a few coherent sentences: "…Make sure mother's settled in… Help Bodhan with the unpacking because Maker knows Sandal's not touching anything breakable… talk to Varric about that other job… meet with the Viscount…"

"_You_ certainly sound busy," he mused, interrupting her rambling with a grin as they peaked the top of the stairs, both stopping to catch their breath.

"Life's not so different from when you met me," she sighed, looking a bit disheveled. "Everybody wants something and I get paid to make sure they get it. …Only before, it was a lot easier because they all wanted the same thing."

She righted herself straight and inhaled deeply as she stopped in front of her new Hightown mansion. "New house…" She thumbed at the entrance with a satisfied grin. "I haven't seen it yet," she laughed and shook her head.

She turned to run inside, but grabbed the doorframe to stop herself.

"Oh, hey! Before I forget... Hanged Man tomorrow. Noon. I trust you remember how to get there?" She shot him a sly smile. "We've got some noble ass to kick."

Sebastian simply smiled as she ran inside. As the warm rays of light poured over Hightown's walls, he could not decide then whether life had just gotten easier or much, much harder.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: _After mulling over the question of 'whether or not "Chantry" and "Grand Cleric" should always be capitalized' for almost an hour, I finally went ahead and decided: Yes. They should. Those terms are not capitalized in-game; but they are in the books.  
>So I'm sticking to it – from here on out! xD<br>Oh, and I'll go ahead and explain something else really quick: While the beginning of my story was untraditional, I wanted to weave the concept smoothly into the real story, which is why you will be reading some conversations that actually happen between Hawke and Sebastian in the game. I have more plans for future chapters to stray a little off course, but it's all a part of the continuity and...smoothness. :) _

_I hope you all continue to read and enjoy! (Reviews are always welcome!)_


	7. Repentance

Mara Hawke had learned a few things since her time in Kirkwall… The first? Faking an orgasm. _No_ sex was much better than _bad _sex.

Second: Keeping priorities in line was the number one priority. She had secured their estate, and her mother was safe; and Maker help her, that was the best she could do. Bethany was in places beyond her reach now… She needed to remember that. Third: Life was just too short to stop and think about it. Pondering the 'what if's' and entertaining any form of hypothetical nonsense was a waste of time, and only ever served to complicate a situation. It was why she was sarcastic, despite her good nature. Apathy worked well to dilute the painful memories and keep her act together – hence, the second and third lessons really go hand in hand.

Lastly: Nobles were strange. And money and power make people do _strange_ things. Though she might as well count herself amongst them now, she honestly just did not understand their behavior. Confronting the Harimann's should have been awkward at most – a considerably easy feat for herself, two expert marksmen, and an ex-warden apostate. But running into drunken, psychotic nymphomaniacs was certainly not what Hawke, or Sebastian, had in mind as they made their way through the Harimann estate the very next day.

Life had, for the moment, fallen into place; and now it was just a matter of staying busy, helping her friends, and fighting the good fight. She had told Sebastian she would see this through. And she meant it.. …But at the moment, she was simply concerned with erasing the unwelcome knowledge of Ruxton Harimann's feather fetish.

"Forgive me Hawke, I did not mean to expose you to such…things," Sebastian muttered as they fled the upper level suites and made their decent into the hidden reaches below.

"My modesty and dignity are beyond saving," she joked. "Believe me, I've been exposed to _much_ worse," she laughed, shooting him an incredulous look. "And so has the blushing Chantry brother, if I recall correctly."

His brows furrowed and he averted his eyes, keeping them forward. "…I don't remember any ruins so close to Hightown."

"A noble attempt at evasion," Varric chuckled as they made their way through the eerily green-lit catacombs. "But I'll be hearing these stories later, over drinks."

Sebastian was about to respond but upon feeling the ground beneath them crumble and open up, he deftly knocked an arrow and took aim at the emerging skull of a skeletal warrior. It pierced its target with a bone-shattering crack and the royal archer made quick work of retrieving it and sending it flying towards its next victim.

One by one the undead corpses fell, to volleys of arrows, bursts of spiritual energy, and whirlwinds of daggers. Within the dark and dank underground ruins, their echoing battle cries sounded together. After disposing of an undead archer, Hawke had to pause and watch as Sebastian moved with extraordinary speed and dexterity, letting each of his arrows fly with pristine accuracy and deadly concentration.

In the midst of the fray she studied him – his stoic features, strong posture, and intense focus – and she found herself recalling the duel they shared in the Lowtown alley, once upon a time. Back then, he had only daggers to defend himself against her impulsive onslaught; and now, seeing him fight and witnessing his talents at their finest, she felt an overwhelming rush of awareness at his closeness and had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from doing anything stupid… like rushing him, removing his armor and finding out if anything else has changed since they last-

A cry from another of her comrades grabbed her attention, and she whipped around in time to see Anders struck from behind by an arcane horror, which had appeared out of thin air.

'_To the void with my wandering mind!'_ she cursed herself.

Waves of corpses were soon followed by waves of abominations and demons, and suddenly it all made sense. It didn't take a mage to piece together that this was a case of possession they were dealing with, and the urgency of the situation was not lost on her as she sunk her blade into the spine of a nearby shade.

"I'll show you why mages are feared…" she heard Anders shout.

Sensing his healing light in her peripherals, a surge of combat-lust pulsed through her veins. The battle was near to victory. With a wicked grin Hawke sprang forward and took the offensive, twirling in midair and stabbing into the rage demon that stood alone and defiant in the center of their group. It screeched in pain before bursting into flames and evaporating, and she whipped the gore from her daggers before sheathing them back into place.

"Maker's breath, Hawke, you do get results don't you?" Varric grinned.

She righted herself, swinging her long hair out of her face with a smirk. "I wouldn't be me if I didn't."

Varric laughed loudly, slinging Bianca over his shoulder and following behind his esteemed leader and friend. "Come along choir boy. And don't forget to pick up your jaw."

They fought like that for nearly an hour, deeper and deeper into the ruins, meeting endless hordes of undead monsters and shades. Finding a desire demon at the end of such madness not only made sense, but also had Hawke extremely curious at the turn of events. She'd had very few dealings with demons, as they usually kept within the confines of the Fade – and desire demons in particular rarely made such an appearance. An encounter of this sort was interesting, to say the least, and as the four of them approached, she met eyes with the creature.

It hovered slightly above the ground, its unnatural form a stunning combination of lavender hues and smoky phosphorescence that, for obvious reasons, was quite eye-catching – that, and the thing was completely naked. As it spoke alone with Lady Harimann in the stone hall, she and her companions could make out an appropriate amount of their conversation, and upon hearing "What else do you offer?" Hawke could not hold her tongue.

"Fifty silver is the standard rate for a whore at the Rose," she chuckled as Lady Harimann turned a surprised eye in their direction, having just admitted out loud her plot to gain control of Starkhaven.

Sebastian stepped forward, his gaze hard with rage as he stared down the older noblewoman. "You were my mother's friend. How could you _murder_ her?"

"Such an ugly word," the desire demon purred, its dark eyes penetrating and scouring their minds for their unspoken wishes. "I prefer: removed the only obstacle between her and her dreams."

Sebastian turned his attention, pointing an accusing finger at the demon. "This was _your_ idea."

Apparently this was his first demonic encounter.

"I could create such desires if I wished," it grinned wickedly. "But it's _far_ easier to nurture those that already exist. The desire for power is easy to find. You and your friend both possess it, do you not?"

Hawke and Sebastian exchanged glances as she spoke.

"You both wish to rise."

Having Bethany for a sister had made Hawke less ignorant than most. She had spent many a time reading and researching on mages, abominations, and demons, and was not one to be fooled by empty words. This thing didn't know it, but it chose the wrong person to persuade.

"Not if it meant selling out my family," Hawke spat.

It's hollow, lavender eyes narrowed. "How loyal are your friends to you?" It scanned her party members. "_Everyone_ has a price. _Everyone_ wants something..."

"Do not listen to her," Sebastian muttered quietly aside.

"Oh, such a pious soul, masking so much ambition." The demon grinned hungrily at Sebastian. "Are you so different from my lady? You yearn for the same lands, the same power…"

"_I_ am the rightful heir," he exclaimed in defense. "_She_ is a usurper and a murderer."

"You swore to put aside worldly goods and ambitions, but they couldn't stop you from wanting them."

Hawke turned an interested eye to Sebastian. "…You and Lady Harimann _are_ fighting for the same thing, aren't you?"

"Regaining my birthright is hardly the same as stealing it from another..."

"But you want it," the demon continued, a knowing smile on it's cold purple lips. "You had resigned yourself to letting your brother rule. Yet now, that seat glitters before you... You've always wanted it," her voice echoed, reaching out to him. "You needn't deny it any longer. …All you have to do is kill anyone in your way."

"Silence, temptress," Sebastian took an angry step forward. "_Your_ whispers led our allies astray. _You're_ the only one I must _kill_."

With lightning speed he equipped his bow and fired an arrow straight for the demons heart. But with matched speed, it snatched the shot out of the air and glared menacingly at him.

When the fight erupted, it was mere moments before it was over. Sebastian's first strike may have been thwarted, but in the heat of battle, the creature did not sense the archer's lance aimed straight for its head. The lesser demons were of little note, as he fought with such ferocity that Hawke actually had to stop herself from saying anything out of place when they stood triumphant over the pile of ash and corpses. The dual-wielding rogue might've usually been a smartass, but she knew there was a time and place for everything. She was not _completely_ tactless…

Silently, she looted the bodies of Lady Harimann and the demon 'Allure' before his voice sounded from beside her.

"Let us return to the Chantry," he uttered as he stared blankly at the littered floor. "I must pray for Lady Harimann's soul."

The trek back was quiet, apart from the encounter with Flora Harimann. Again, Hawke held back the urge to jab at the young noblewoman's diversion of blame, but only for Sebastian's sake. She could not fault him for being as shaken as he was with the whole thing. Also…a large part of her understood what it was like to lose so much.

When they returned to the Chantry, Sebastian separated himself somewhat, attempting to find much needed comfort within the walls of the familiar sanctuary. When Varric and Anders left for the Hanged Man, Hawke found herself unable to follow. Sparing a glance over her shoulder, she noticed his rigid posture as he leaned against the stone rail of the altar. The look of distress marring his normally calm features was painfully clear, and she didn't bother hiding her appearance as she stepped up the small amount of stairs.

"…I had hoped prayer might cleanse me of the desire demon's touch…" he began quietly. "But I still hear her voice so clearly." He shook his head. "I feel like I've bathed in _filth_ that will never come off."

She approached slowly, the signs of his discomfort clear as day. She tried to meet his eyes and offer him the strength he needed, but Sebastian looked too rattled by his first true encounter with a demon from the Fade.

"You acted honorably," she assured him. "Why are you ashamed?"

"The demon didn't lie," he answered hesitantly, "I used to be bitterly jealous of my brother. I wanted to be Prince. Now everything he had is mine… and he lies in ashes." He paused a moment and closed his eyes. "I keep asking myself, 'do I want this because it's right, or simply to have what I never thought I could?'"

She listened as he spoke, allowing him the time he needed to get it all off his chest. Just as he was there for her, she would be for him.

"It's odd," he continued. "When I wanted to rule, I would have been terrible at it. Now that I might be decent, I don't know if it's the right thing to do."

She eyed him seriously. "It's the wisdom not to want power that let's you use it wisely." She touched his hand and he finally looked up at her, to which she offered him a smile. "You really have changed, you know." She admired the strength he too had acquired during their time apart. "In a good way."

He hesitated to smile back. "You didn't feel what that demon stirred in me. But, all the same, I appreciate your kindness." He exhaled deeply. "I can't believe it's finally over."

"It must be a relief… What do you intend to do now?" she asked curiously.

He looked pensive a moment. "It cannot be right to lead any army to Starkhaven with such doubt in my heart." He paused. "…I will…need to think on it."

"Well," she smiled. "At least it will be easier to 'think on' without the threat of assassination."

"And on that note…" he laughed, turning to face her fully with a genuine smile. "I know you won't accept payment, but I owe you more than I can say, Hawke." He offered an appreciative nod. "You've been…a true friend. And I will offer my service to you here before I move on."

She grinned devilishly then, unable to let old habits die. "Will you now? …I can think of a few _services_ for you to perform."

His face was priceless.

"Wh- Oh. _Ooh_ my," he rubbed the back of his neck and looked around awkwardly. "That's…not what I meant. I…"

"_Sebastian Vael_," she giggled, approaching him slowly until she had him up against the railing behind him. "Oh how the tables have turned… I just cannot get used to this." She leaned up against him and teasingly flicked her tongue across his earlobe before whispering, "You're so _cute_ when you're shy…"

He bit his lip as she leisurely slid away from him, gliding her soft fingers along his jaw line. His blue eyes darkened somewhat, and she swore she saw the beginnings of a familiar grin on his handsome features.

Oh yes. This was going to be her new favorite game.

"Come and find me later, at the Hanged Man," she called after him, an evil, amused smirk on her lips as she sauntered off. "I'll be requesting your _services_ as soon as possible."

A Chantry sister nearby shot him a disapproving look as she folded her arms and Hawke could barely contain her laughter as she disappeared.

"You…do that," he swore under his breath. "…I think I need to pray. A lot."

* * *

><p>Unfortunately, prayer had done little to quell the feelings returning within him. And <em>she<em> was not helping at all… walking ahead of them, with those hips swaying gently, side to side. Even with that armor, it would be so easy t-

"You know, you could burn a painful eternity for all those disgraceful thoughts," Varric muttered beside him.

"I…beg your pardon? I was thinking no such things…" Sebastian coughed and craned his neck, looking anywhere but ahead at the one leading their group back along the Wounded Coast.

They had just met with a very exasperating dwarf who had apparently gotten himself into a world of trouble after getting involved with the Qunari and their explosive powder. It seemed Javaris wasn't quite the mastermind he was made out to be, as a set up proved another thief was behind this act. The Viscount himself had brought this matter to Hawke, personally; and Sebastian could understand why any dealings with the foreigners would be a risky business. He was surprised Hawke had gained so much attention…and yet, actually not so surprised at all. Either way, it was good to know he would be busy helping people.

"It is also a sin to lie, is it not?" Varric pressed, pulling him away from his thoughts. "I'd be careful not to get struck by lightning before you get the chance to battle this usurper of yours. You'll need all the strength you can get! I mean, he's...what, twenty feet tall?"

At that, Sebastian could not help but laugh. "Not even close, no."

"But he has claws for hands, right?" Varric held up two gloved hands in front of him and began swiping at the air.

"Fingers." Sebastian chuckled. "Perfectly normal ones. If a little fat, perhaps."

"He eats babies though. And farts fire."

Sebastian's previous blush had quickly disappeared at the imagery now being conjured. "You're not serious, I hope."

"…You can't even pretend to be interesting, can you?" Varric shook his head slowly.

Giggling quietly to herself until now, Hawke burst out laughing ahead of them.

"Varric, leave him alone." She glanced over her shoulder and shot their haughty dwarven companion a half-assed look of disapproval.

They made their way down and back along the sandy paths of the Wounded Coast, the sound of the crashing waves and crying gulls all around them. The salty smell of the sea and the soft spray of water droplets took his mind in another direction, and in an attempt to get all the attention off of himself, Sebastian turned to their other party member.

"So, Isabella… Is this getting you any closer to your ship?"

Isabella turned a bored eye to him. "Huh?"

"I just…don't understand why you're working with Hawke. You don't seem to care about anything we do. What's keeping you here?"

She simply shrugged as she kept pace with him and Varric, only a couple feet behind Hawke. "Mostly the sex." The look on Sebastian's face quickly provoked her out of her boredom. "Oh yes, Hawke is an absolute tiger in the sheets. I mean _all_ night, _every_ night…"

"…Every night?" Images that he could never un-see burned themselves into his mind.

"Oh cute! You're blushing," the pirate grinned wickedly.

"Too cruel, Rivaini." Varric smirked.

"Really, you two," Hawke finally turned to face her comrades, her hands on her hips. "Leave Sebastian alone. And _Isabella_," she strolled up to poke a finger at her friends' chest, pressing her body flush against hers. "How would _Fenris_ feel about all your flirting?"

"Wh-" Her fellow duelist looked baffled. "How…did you know about-"

"Details, details," she teased. "Now stop exaggerating before I spill all your dirty secrets and spoil all your fun."

"You wouldn't," Isabella narrowed her eyes.

"Don't tempt me." Hawke chuckled and pressed a playful kiss to her friends' cheek before continuing on ahead.

"Fine, fine," Isabella sighed, straightening her revealing bodice. As she stepped in line behind Hawke, she cast Sebastian a sly grin. "Temptation's half the fun, though."

Varric shook his head and laughed, ushering the dazed prince forward.

"Don't worry, choir boy. Everybody likes taking shots at the new guy. Lucky for you, the worst you'll get is from Isabella, and yours truly."

Sebastian simply shook his head and tried to force away the red on his face. "At least your reassurance is genuine. I think."

An hour later the four rogues found themselves leaving the cloudy, twisted paths inland of the coast. The three of them followed at a polite distance behind their irrefutable leader as she led them back into Kirkwall. Following the trail the dwarf had given them, they quickly made their way to the alley where the elf was supposed to be. Instead, they found a member of the guard pacing back and forth to keep the small group of confused citizens away from the dark alley corner.

"All of you, I can't fight the damned air. If you want to live, _stay out_!"

"Easy soldier," Hawke chuckled as she moved to pass.

"Wait. Messer Hawke?" He held up his hand to stop her. "Maker, please, the street is death. There was a cloud that drove people mad, and now a seeping mist that kills..." He shook his head after glancing over his shoulder. "All I can do is warn people. If someone like you dies on my watch, I'm right stuffed."

"Well…" Hawke grinned. "Hold your breath."

And with that said, she strode past him, confidence – or was it indifference – radiating off of her. As the three of them followed, the guard twitched and stuttered in panic.

"But…shit," he mumbled helplessly.

They descended the stairs and Sebastian instantly felt a hot, sharp stinging in his lungs at the first breath of air.

"My throat burns," he grasped at his neck. "We must find the source."

This was a disaster. The alley was thick with poisonous fumes that had already claimed several lives and was quickly spreading out of control. They moved quickly, mindful of the few corpses that littered the streets, until Hawke found a small mechanical device and turned her hardened gaze to the barrels spilling over with gas.

"…This should do the trick on those barrels." She attached the mechanism and effectively sealed the first one shut.

In an instant, waves of fanatics and bandits were upon them, scaling from rooftops and appearing from the shadows in an attempt to ambush the intruders. Varric and Sebastian took up ranged positions from behind while Isabella and Hawke moved like the wind in between each of their foes, cutting a path amidst a storm of arrows.

This process went on three more times before the enemies stopped coming, the barrels all effectively sealed and secure. At the end of it all, a diseased looking elf approached from one of the stairs above.

"Is that…? Serrah Hawke!" The elf's eyes widened and then narrowed. "_You_ have enemies. …I'm glad it's you, really," she admitted as she scanned the streets around them. "These poor people," she shook her head, "_You_ are a much better target!"

"Care to explain your particular brand of crazy?" Hawke looked up at her, humor turning quickly to impatience.

"Qunari take my people! My siblings forget their culture, then go to the _Qun_ for purpose. We're losing them _twice_!" She raised her sword. "So, I get help from your people. We'll take the Qunari thunder, make some accidents, and make them hated! But this…" she looked around. "This is all wrong."

Hawke's eyes narrowed at the pathetic excuse of a person before her. Raging emotions – hidden, but visible to those who looked hard enough – flashed in her eyes like a violent storm. Sebastian almost recoiled as she turned those eyes towards them, a look of indecision briefly mingled in with the rest as she surveyed their surroundings and the situation.

"You're still killing people."

"It can still work. They are hidden in your city. They'll enrage the faithful, and make sure the Qunari are blamed! Me, I'm finished. I just need a few more bodies…" Her eyes became daggers. "A few more…"

"I'm tired of lunatics," she muttered under her breath as the elf took charge.

The battle did not last long, as the adrenaline from earlier had left the four of them ready to meet bows and blades against their enemies.

"May the maker have mercy on you, for you'll find none here." Hawke rushed forward and drove her dagger through her gut, holding her up with her other hand and driving the blade in deeper.

Sebastian winced as the elf gagged and spewed blood over Hawke's shoulder. While he would have seen her jailed, a part of him that understood the gravity of the situation, understood what she was doing. Sometimes that line between right and wrong was more like a gigantic gray area. Nothing was ever certain.

He watched as Hawke closed her eyes and sighed, her face caked in dirt and blood from all of their grueling combat in their fight to end this confusion. And there was liable to be more that followed. She inhaled calmly as she jerked her blade away and stood back from the lifeless corpse, searching her body before standing up to scan the gore that littered the muddy ground.

Before leaving, Sebastian hung his head and uttered a small prayer for the souls of the departed. Nothing was right about what happened here, but a small amount of justice had been done.

"The Arishok will want to know what happened here," Hawke said quietly.

Isabella disappeared before they made their way to the docks, daylight having just barely broken as the two archers accompanied their leader to meet with the Qunari in their sanctioned compound.

As they approached, Hawke took two extra steps forward, meeting the Arishok with more courage than he could have mustered as the goliath towered before them. Sebastian had never been inside the compound, and admittedly held a slight bias for the foreign giants and their Qun that they followed. But seeing them face-to-face, he had never felt so small before another man. Such massive creatures, the Qunari, with a menacing, ice-cold stare that made you feel as though you could never measure up to their standards… And yet Hawke stood tall, meeting eyes with their leader and even bowing her head in respect.

"So," the Arishok's deep voice boomed. "I was wrong about our thief."

His eyes were piercing from beneath his shadowed brow, and his horns bared forward as he ducked his head.

A simple nod, and a "So it would seem," did plenty to satisfy the question.

"They say we were careless with our trap, that this is _our_ fault. But even without the saar-gamek, there would have been death. This elf was determined to lay blame at our feet." He extended a gesture with his hand. "I admire conviction with a focus, but your kind are truly committed to weakness."

"Why aren't you more concerned about her supporters?" Hawke asked curiously.

"Our enemies strike from the shadows because they cannot stand before us. This is not a revelation..."

They went on like that, back and forth, for a time. Sebastian found it difficult to keep up with the conversation. The small battalion of Qunari soldiers surrounding them did little to steal his eyes away from the woman beside him. She stood, speaking calmly with the Arishok with her chin held high and a resolute determination in her eyes. Hands at her sides, the wind picked up and threw her hair wildly around her, making her look the perfect picture of boldness and ferocity. She was utterly beautiful, and stronger than any woman he had ever known. How could so much fire, so much compassion and strength all fit in one small body, and be equally as beautiful to boot?

Hawke was facing these Qunari for the Viscount, for the entire city of Kirkwall, when everyone knew she didn't need to. Without so much as the slightest hint of hesitation, she did what no other man had done and met with these foreigners as an equal, and for no personal gain. She was ferocious in battle, he had seen that much today; and she did it all because it was the right thing to do. Hawke understood what duty meant, and rose to meet it whenever it called on her.

...Could he do the same?

His adoration was interrupted when the Arishok's voice rose above its normally calm demeanor.

"…_That_ is why I do not simply walk from the pustule of a city." He turned abruptly, anger flashing in his molten eyes. "Fixing your mess is not the demand of the Qun," he rounded on them then, "And you should all be _grateful_!"

Sebastian felt an overwhelming urge to grab Hawke and run, his right hand twitching at his side, ready to move if commanded.

"…Thank you, human, for your service," he grunted, slowly turning to sit back down upon his impermanent throne. His eyes were penetrating as he commanded them: "Leave."

Hawke simply nodded, her eyes trained on him and her hands remaining calmly at her side.

"Let's go," she ordered, and Varric muttered something about nut jobs and giants giving him headaches and left to follow after Isabella.

Sebastian stayed as the wooden gate to the compound shut behind them, and Hawke simply stretched her arms high above her head. The two of them then made their ascent, out and away from the docks and back towards Hightown.

"I've seen too many people like that," she said suddenly, her voice serious. "Self-righteous zealots, thinking anyone different deserves judgment – who kill and spread hatred, claiming their will to be just. The Qunari may be intimidating, and…difficult to get along with, but they're people too." She turned to Sebastian and smiled. "It feels good doing the right thing."

"…Some might argue whether what you did was right," he shrugged. "Many people find it easy to hate them for what they represent."

"Well they can shove it." She hooked her thumbs along her belt as they climbed the long set of stairs. "I am sure of myself and that's all I need."

"And that," he followed beside her, "is something I've always envied about you."

"Are you not certain in your convictions?"

Sebastian laughed ruefully. "I always seem to think I am," he sighed, "but then I feel doubt creep back up my spine, give sway to my every decision."

"You still question what to do about Starkhaven."

"That among other things… It is difficult to convince myself that it will all work itself out. While I trust in the Maker's will, I also know that it is the will of mankind which make the decisions that shape our world."

"So decide." She inclined her head in his direction, meeting his eyes briefly. "What's important to you?"

He stopped beside her as they reached the bottom of the stairs leading to Viscount's Way. Without so much as a care, Hawke plopped down heavily at the base of the stone steps, to which Sebastian soon followed when she gestured he take a seat beside her. They both took a moment to stare up at the cloudy sky, the streets nearly empty, save for the random few citizens passing by.

"Must you always make everything seem so easy?" he asked, leaning back on the steps behind them and tilting his head to look at her.

Her eyes were tracing patterns in the clouds. "It seems easy at first…" She wore a sideways grin. "But you have yet to answer the question."

"I…" His eyes found their way back up to the sky. "I guess you're right," he chuckled.

"It's harder than it sounds, deciding what's important. Most people don't even have a clue what they want."

"What about you?" he kept his eyes up as he leaned against his elbows. "How did you figure it out?"

"I think the issue forced itself on me when my family left Ferelden. By then I had totally assumed the role my father would have played – taking care of my family was all that mattered to me."

"A difficult burden, for one so young to bear…"

"No one ever has a choice." Her voice remained light. "They are given the illusion of it, but people would rather think they picked the wrong one, than admit weakness or fault. I could have let Bethany work at the Rose, and I could have let mother rot with the rest of Lowtown…but what would that make me?"

"Normal, I think," Sebastian smiled, sparing a glance at the remarkable woman beside him. "You set the bar too high for the rest of the world, and now they're struggling and making a mess just to try and be more like you."

"Amateurs," she laughed.

"Taking care of your family seems like all that you've known…" he tried to look at her. "But what do _you_ want?"

"…The same thing I wanted when you first met me," she sighed, keeping her eyes in the sky. "But it's foolish to wait around for someone else to fix every mess I land myself in. And it would also make me quite a hypocrite."

"Everyone deserves a break, Hawke." He sent her a sympathetic smile. "It is a mark of humanity to want to right all the wrongs in this world, yet fall short in possessing what it takes to do it."

"Mankind is measured not by the choices presented to them, but by their decisions to _do_ something about them. And it is fear – or laziness – which hold us back."

She turned a thoughtful eye towards him, but a drop of rain caught them off guard and they both looked up to find themselves being soaked in a sudden downpour. Hawke laughed as they sprinted the rest of the way to find shelter in the cozy entryway of her estate, framed by the beautiful veil of ivy leaves.

"Well, that was quick and unexpected." She shook her hands free of the water drops rolling down her arms. "-Words a man should never hear from a woman," she chuckled. "Would you like to come inside? You haven't seen my new house yet."

Sebastian looked thoughtful for a moment as the dark clouds above were giving way to heavier drops of rain. The warm air of summer was changing with the cool drop of pressure from the storm – a welcoming change to the sweltering heat and humidity.

"I'm…not sure if that's appropriate," his deep brogue sounded over the falling rain, as his eyes fell to catch tiny beads of water rolling down her shapely legs.

Her expectant smile dropped to a pouty frown. Walled off from the storm in their own private oasis, their bodies were considerably close. She shifted her weight and crossed her arms. "Sebastian… I get that you're all about the Chantry now, and doing good deeds – and that's great." She fidgeted uncomfortably under his gaze. "But why do you act so…_reserved_ around me? It's not like we haven't-"

"_That_ was," he cleared his throat, "…a long time ago. I have sworn oaths, taken vows to the Chantry, since then. Some of which I've already broken..."

She rubbed her arms and looked out into the mist covering Hightown. "So you aren't allowed to…be with anyone? Ever?" She cast him a disbelieving look.

"Well…yes." He struggled to hold her gaze.

"You mean you actually swore one of _those_ vows?" Her eyebrows shot up. "I don't believe it."

"I'm not the person I used to be," his voice grew defensive.

"Everybody changes." She met his gaze with a shrug. "I guess I just can't believe… You mean I can't even _kiss_ you?"

"…" Her boldness staggered his resolve somewhat.

"Yes. We've changed," she continued. "Yes, a lot of time has past." She squared her shoulders and faced him fully, looking up to meet his eyes. "But don't think for a minute that I never missed you."

Sebastian, even after so many years, looked down into her eyes and found himself shamed by her honesty and sincerity, amazed that she could speak the words he could not.

"…I could say the same," his voice dropped lower as he hesitantly reached out to touch her chin.

"You could, but you don't, because you have new promises to keep." Her hand stopped his, gently holding it steady. "Ones that I won't ask you to abandon…"

Her eyes followed the contours and features of his face, mere inches apart, and stopped to stare at his lips. Drops of water still fell down their faces, dripping ever so often off the tips of their noses. Slowly, gently, she rolled her tongue over her lips.

"But I only think it's fair, after all," her eyes wandered back up to meet his and a smirk danced across her face, "that I ask…for just one kiss."

Sebastian searched her eyes and felt his heart hammering inside his chest. The knowledge and awareness of his vows were clashing with the situation and the reasons he was quickly making for this to be okay.

Time had come and gone, changed them both… But…maybe just this once?

"You can pray for forgiveness later," she whispered against his skin.

His eyes fell to her lips. Maker, he had dreamt – many, many nights – about a time where he could kiss those lips again, just one more time, hear her whisper his name like she did before…

Fighting with what was right and what was expected, he thought back to words she had only moments ago offered him, '_So decide_.'

"…Just this once," he reasoned, a comforting whisper for his ears only.

His covered hand quickly found its way in her hair as he leaned forward and slanted his lips over hers. A soft moan and a taste so familiar sent his memory and senses spiraling into a high he had not felt in a long time.

While one hand cupped her face, the other went behind her head to brace himself against the wall as she leaned back and tilted her head up, allowing him further access into her mouth as their tongues met and their eyelids slid shut. Snaking her arms around his neck, she pulled him closer, their mouths claiming one another and fighting for dominance and their breaths coming in short pants and gasps for air.

At one moment, it was slow and sweet, and at another, it was wild and savage. The passion came in waves and bursts, until he had her pressed against the ivy wall and they were both panting for air. Resting his forehead against hers, he kept his eyes shut, breathing in a scent and relishing in a taste so familiar, so wonderful, it was almost a sin to have forgotten…

But his vows…

"Just this once," he whispered again, his lips against her temple.

Shaken, but too elated to notice or care, Sebastian pulled back to find her green eyes glazed over as she looked up at his mouth. Maker, he was going to have to pray for forgiveness three straight weeks after this.

"I should…go," he breathed, his arms still braced against the stone behind her and walling her in.

Hawke simply nodded as she worried her bottom lip between her teeth, daring to peak up at him from beneath her lashes.

"I will…" He leaned down. "See you tomorrow then," his voice was quiet, but deep with desire as he brushed his lips against hers.

Her lips parted slightly and they paused for a moment, aware of where this would lead. Moving as if in a trance, their lips came together in the softest of touches before he moved to the side to rest against her.

She inhaled deeply, smiling as she felt the stubble of his face against her cheek. "Hanged Man, noon," she repeated. "I trust you know how to get there."

"Woman, you will be the death of me…" he whispered as he pulled back, tearing his gaze away and rubbing a hand down his face. "…Until then," he cleared his throat. "Hawke."

And he took purposeful steps away from their shrouded fortress, not bothering to run once blanketed by the rain, and hoping that the falling water would wash away all his sins and transgressions.

Meanwhile, a love struck Hawke made her way inside, a sway to her step and a goofy grin that left her mother wondering when she'd have any grandchildren.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: _Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews! :)_


	8. Offered and Lost

The walk back through Hightown did little to calm his nerves, and the rain did even less to wash clean his contaminated thoughts. As Sebastian made his way through the wall of mist and rain he slowed, his head dropping to watch as each foot forcibly dragged himself further and further away from the object of his desire. He bit the inside of his cheek and clenched his hands as he moved, feeling his nails grind against the leather interior of his gloves. Maker help him, but that was the stupidest thing he could have done.

How could he have forgotten the feelings she evoked in him, the way every one of his senses responded to her? How could he have forgotten how easy it was to lose himself with her? The truth left him feeling powerless…

He didn't forget. He just didn't care.

He could still smell her, feel her, still taste her on his lips… Just thinking about it had his blood boiling, his feet ready to turn him around and make her understand just how much he had missed her, how much his body still craved her. Days, months, years – it didn't matter how long it had been. He wanted her. Completely, selfishly, he wanted her just as he did back then.

He swallowed thickly, squeezing his eyes shut and willing the cool water to numb his aching body. A brother of faith, a chaste man should not be having such thoughts, should not have _kissed_ her like that…

But Maker it would have been a sin not to.

The things she made him feel when they first met, his inability to forget her, and now… finding her again, traveling in her company and being so close, it was impossible to ignore the ways she still got under his skin and deprived him of sleep, constantly teasing, tormenting, and whispering sweetly in his ear…

_'Sebastian…'_

Mara Hawke was proving to be the ultimate test of his willpower – and tonight he had failed, miserably.

Drops of water soaked his clothing and armor, rolled steadily down his face and fell from his fingertips as he finally gazed up at the Chantry. His guts churned and his stomach rose up into his throat as he felt its walls looming over him. No amount of prayer would satisfy; nothing would sedate this beast within him. Her voice would never cease.

_'Please…'_

"Just this once," he repeated with a rueful chuckle. "But never again."

Walking slowly up the soaked granite stairway, he closed his eyes. Nothing was ever clear like it had been while he was in the Chantry – his steps had purpose. Everything made sense. But now, more than ever, he felt like he did before, that night he left her standing in her room at the Blooming Rose. A crushing guilt and an overwhelming uncertainty left him feeling totally and utterly powerless as he pressed his hands against the large wooden doors of his sanctuary. His breathing was shallow but his heart was beating beyond his control.

He could not go in. He could not face the Grand Cleric, feeling like this. He was beginning to feel like even prayer would not succeed in purging this doubt from his heart. For once in a very long time, fatigue weighed so heavily over his mind, that all he could think to do was find sleep. He would spend all his waking power to forget that anything had ever happened.

* * *

><p>The next morning found the penitent brother perched on a bench in Hightown's market, the mage Anders seated at his left and the elf, Fenris, to his right, leaning against a stone column. The three of them sat patiently, each pair of eyes glued to the female who was slowly changing their lives, day by day.<p>

However, 'patient' was not really the word Sebastian would have used in this situation. He could not help but notice – with an irritating bounce to his left foot – the way she was moving, gliding in and out of conversation between the venders, buying potions and equipment for her friends, a smile on her lips and a light bounce to her step. He had to bite his lip to keep his thoughts in check, unable to tear his eyes away from the new pirate-style leather armor that she had apparently acquired. Its billowing sleeves complimented all the ways in which the outfit clung to every womanly curve she possessed – from her cinched waist to the tight pants showing off that round, perfect, squeezable-

"She's in a cheerful mood today," Anders muttered to himself.

Sebastian's brows furrowed when he noticed that his eyes weren't the only ones following her every step. What bothered him more was that he couldn't tell who he should be angrier with – Anders for staring, or himself for his failure to control his covetousness and impious thoughts. As jealousy was not an emotion he commonly – or easily – dealt with, he decided to go with the former.

"You seem very angry," the archer mused in light conversation, keeping his gaze ahead of him. "A lot of the time, as a matter of fact."

"And here I thought the Chantry was _against_ mind-reading," Anders bit back, rolling his shoulders and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

Sebastian clicked his tongue but held back any retort at the man's jabs against the Chantry. Sighing, he cleared his mind of all the negative thoughts currently clouding his judgment, reasoning that perhaps there was a deep-rooted reason behind this man's anger. The Andrastian within him was at least willing to try and reach out, perhaps find some common ground.

"Did something happen to you in the Circle? I understand there were problems in Ferelden…"

"Are you saying a mage can only be unhappy in the Circle if demons were involved?" Anders quickly retorted.

Sebastian inwardly winced at his tone. Apparently compromise would be difficult. ...Well, no big loss. At least he tried.

"No," the mage continued, staring forward. "It's not about Uldred. It's not about being beaten or raped by a templar – that _does_ happen, but I've been fortunate." Fenris scoffed beside him. "It's a larger principle: the freedom every man, woman, and child born in Thedas have as a natural right."

"I've seen what a _free_ mage is capable of," Fenris muttered to himself, but Anders just ignored him.

Sebastian regarded him warily, suddenly feeling justified in his assumptions – Anders was like a lyrium bomb, ready to explode at the slightest unwanted contact. As much as he was already disliking the guy, he figured reason might at least tame the boiling sea of anger within him.

"You were given to the Circle. I was given to the Chantry. Hawke was driven away from her home by the Darkspawn…" His eyes found Hawke but quickly pulled themselves away. "None of us are free."

Fenris looked down at Sebastian a moment, appearing as though he wanted to say something, but seemingly decided against it as the three men continued to wait for their friend and leader. After a moment, however, Sebastian peaked a curious glance in the elf's direction.

"Are you an Andrastian, Fenris?" he asked quietly.

"If I say no, will you attempt to convert me?" Fenris' low, flat voice sounded.

His eyes softened, patient and understanding in the ex-slaves' defensiveness. "Many elves believe in the Maker. I ask only because I wonder if your experiences… soured your faith."

"My faith was never strong. It's difficult for a slave to have faith in someone who abandoned them." His green eyes fixed themselves on nothing in particular in the distance.

"The Maker didn't enslave you, Fenris," Sebastian explained patiently.

The contempt in his voice could be heard, even through the unyielding apathy of his usual tone. "He didn't help me much, either."

"And yet you stand here. Perhaps He helped you more than you think." Sebastian simply offered him a smile when he finally spared him a glance.

"Gentlemen!" Hawke's voice pulled the three men abruptly from their thoughts. "I'm all ready." She grinned widely. "Now let's go."

"Where are we going, exactly?"

Fenris was the first to speak up as they made their way through Lowtown, towards the Hanged Man.

"Oh, silly me," Hawke slapped her palm lightly against her forehead. "I get so caught up in all my letters and the twenty favors I'm constantly in the middle of doing…" She took a breath and faced her comrades with an apologetic smile. "I received word this morning from Arianni that Feynriel began having…nightmares. I wanted to go as soon as possible."

They paused outside the tavern and Fenris gave a disapproving grunt. "I knew letting him go all those years ago would cause nothing but trouble…"

"Fenris," she smiled. "I understand your fears, and I respect your opinion, but this was _my_ choice. I knew back then what I was doing, and I am ready now to help him face any consequences or challenges he might have met."

Sebastian listened casually, assuming this was all business that dated from before he joined up with Hawke. At that moment he was more concerned in keeping himself distracted from said woman.

"I was going to go ahead and bring Merrill along anyway," she continued, gesturing towards the Hanged Man. "She's waiting inside. She knows more about this sort of…stuff, anyway."

Fenris looked thoughtful a moment before politely bowing his head. "I…appreciate your respect."

As he quietly made his way through the tavern doors, a big smile spread across Hawke's face when his steps quickened. Even Sebastian was quite aware of the blossoming relationship forming within their odd little group, between the elf and the pirate. When Fenris quickly disappeared, he had to admit that the sight was rather...endearing.

Not one moment later, their other elven companion, Merrill, peaked a curious head past the door. "Thank the Creators!" she breathed, practically stumbling out of the tavern and fidgeting terribly. "Isabella was doing that thing again…" Her eyes darted around nervously. "Trying to get me to…to be more confident and talk to the men in there… Elgar'nan. I don't even understand half the things she says!"

"Don't worry Merrill," Hawke laughed, ushering the bewildered Dalish pariah forward. "I don't think anyone would _want_ to understand the way Isabella thinks."

As the four of them began moving, heading first to exchange some found items with random strangers along a different route through Lowtown, Sebastian walked with rigid steps between the two apostates. His blue eyes glanced over at the Dalish elf to his right, unable to hide his smile when her wide, alert eyes stopped watching her footing and started studying the clouds. It surprised him every time when Merrill used blood magic – despite her obvious naiveté, she did not seem so bad of a person. He truly hoped that Hawke would succeed in swaying her from her path of destruction and guide her in the right direction. Anders, on the other hand…

It was difficult to keep an open-minded opinion of the ill-tempered mage when he caught him admiring Hawke's backside, and the archer could not hold his tongue.

"You've made no secret of your intent to lead the mages here in revolution." He eyed him with masked irritation.

Anders turned his narrowed brown eyes towards him. "Well, I've tried not to shout it from the rooftops. You've just been around when I talk with my friends."

"Well, as we have mutual friends – who for some reason don't want you to get hurt – let me tell you this," he finally spoke seriously. "If you go forward with this revolt, the Chantry will bring its full might to bear. They will kill you."

"Andraste was killed." He met his glare head on. "That doesn't mean she failed."

Sebastian had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his anger in check. The look he sent him, however was like poison. "Do _not_ compare yourself to Andraste."

Everything about this mage set his nerves on end. Before today Sebastian had only traveled in his company a handful of times. But each time it grew harder and harder to ignore the man's paranoia against the templars and against the Chantry. It hadn't been long before he learned that Anders had also taken a spirit inside him, making him – by definition – an abomination. With anger to match his rebellious nature, he couldn't see a way that fraternizing with him, or even _knowing_ him for that matter, would do anything other than harm. …And the fact that the man obviously had interest in Hawke wasn't doing very much for his case or for reasons _not_ to turn him over to the templars. Moments of awkward silence stretched between them, but Sebastian could still feel the intense gaze of the apostate at his left.

"How can you have so much faith?" Anders finally began again. "Does nothing bother you?"

"You're bothering me." Sebastian kept his voice deceptively calm.

"Gentlemen, please," Hawke's voice called out as she turned to face them. "We're almost there. Can we bicker like a married couple later?"

Merrill giggled when the two of them frowned, Hawke simply shaking her head with a tired smile as they continued further towards their goal. Helping the boy seemed to be her only concern at the moment. But it didn't take long before the two of them were at it again.

"Go ahead. Say it."

"Say what?" Sebastian sighed.

"I saw you watching me."

"I was looking at the clouds."

"Don't give me that. I know you've been judging me. You think I'm out of control. How can I claim to speak for mages when I'm half demon myself?"

"The one over there looks a bit like a bunny rabbit." He grinned and pointed up to the sky.

Merrill gasped. "I saw that too!" she squealed happily.

Sebastian chuckled at Merrill's childlike mannerisms. Ignoring Anders – who, in his opinion, was far 'broodier' than Fenris – was the best solution he could think of; and it was already working well to make him feel better.

"Your armor is very shiny, Sebastian. Doesn't that make you an easy target?" Merrill's bright green eyes peered into her own reflection.

Sebastian simply smiled at her. "The Light of the Maker is my armor, Merrill. I am not afraid."

"Maybe you could ask Him to make His light less shiny?" she shrugged. "Then you wouldn't need as much armor."

He tried hard not to laugh again. It was easy to forget that she was so dangerous. "So what do you believe, Merrill?"

"Our gods abandoned us long ago. They haven't answered our prayers since the fall of Arlathan." Her voice carried her gaze away to stare back up at the clouds. "When we've proven that we're elves again, that we didn't lose everything, they'll come back to us."

Sebastian looked thoughtful a moment. "We say the same of the Maker. Perhaps they're only different names for the same divine force that created the world."

"…The Maker wants you to be elves?" Merrill asked, wide eyed.

Hawke once again suppressed her laughter as they finally made their way into the Alienage. "Traveling with company has its perks," she mused. "Watching you all interact is one of the best forms of entertainment money could never buy."

It was true, Sebastian admitted. Despite his recent distaste for the abomination in their party, there was something special about each of their unique companions that really made for a diverse and lively group. It was then, he decided, that he would do his best to see these people through their hardships and help them along, just as Hawke was doing.

A smile spread over his lips as they approached the lone elven woman who sent Hawke a thankful nod. She was always helping people, always going out of her way to see good and justice done in this world. It was difficult not to adore her… _'Stop that,' _he scolded himself.

"I was hoping you'd come," Arianni sighed. "You've done so much for my Feynriel already, but…" She drew in a shaky breath. "I visited him among the People, but he turned me away. I know the demons still plague him… And now they've taken him! Two days ago, Feynriel went into a nightmare and hasn't returned."

Hawke's face grew serious. "He can't be woken up?"

"The Keeper says he is near death. His lips still fog a mirror, but that is all." The elven woman's gaze fell to the ground.

"Surely there are mages who can pursue him in the Fade…"

"I have contacted Keeper Marethari," she nodded numbly. "The Dalish have an ancient ritual that might help. But it require someone Feynriel trusts to enter the Fade to free him."

"I suppose I could give it a try," Hawke grinned. "I'll, what, yell really loudly in his ear? Give him a good shake?"

The revelation hit him like a slap to the face and Sebastian was now painfully aware of why Fenris was uncomfortable with this task earlier. And he couldn't blame him.

"…Hawke, you," he cleared his throat and stepped forward, lowering his voice. "You really intend to enter the _Fade_?"

Hawke muttered a quick, "Of course I do," but kept her eyes forward as she continued to speak with Feynriel's mother. "What does the ritual entail?"

Sebastian pursed his lips together and his blue eyes narrowed. This did not sit right with him at all. Men of faith did not enter such…wild and unpredictably sinful places like the Fade. It was against everything he stood for as a brother. But, despite his fears, he kept quiet for the time being. When the Keeper finally arrived and the six of them went into Arianni's house, he grew anxious, his hands and feet twitching nervously as he – rather guiltily – eavesdropped on Hawke's conversation with the elder Dalish woman, just to determine what was going to happen before he made any decisions.

"…This is a serious matter," the Keeper whispered. "Feynriel cannot become an abomination. The destruction he would cause is unimaginable. If you cannot save him from the demons, you must kill him yourself. A death in the Fade will make him what your Circle calls 'Tranquil.' He will be no threat after."

"That's Feynriel's greatest fear," Hawke replied, her words calm but her resolve unshakable. "I won't be the one to make it come true."

The Keeper sighed. "I have no choice but to leave it in your hands. Let us begin."

When the two of them came back into the room, Sebastian finally met her eyes and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Can we talk for a minute?" His voice was serious.

"Sebastian," her brows furrowed. "This is kind of important. Can't it wait?"

Sebastian looked around at the others, not wanting make their disagreement a public spectacle. "Actually, this _is_ important." His eyes searched hers.

"Fine," she sighed. "Give us a moment," she smiled gingerly to the others before stepping aside with him.

"Nothing about this feels right," he whispered.

She put her hands on her hips. "And you wait until now to tell me this?"

"I am well aware that we…disagree on some things, as should you be," he sighed. "But I only ask that you grant me the same respect you granted Fenris earlier."

"Fine by me," she shrugged. "I understand the Chantry would frown upon me aiding a boy – sorry – _mage_ in this manner."

He frowned at her clipped tone. "That was uncalled for."

"I don't have to agree with all of the Chantry's teachings," she huffed, bringing her eyes to stare at the wooden floorboards.

"And I don't have to agree with all your decisions to turn a blind eye to the dangers of magic."

She brought her heated eyes back to meet his. "You're being closed-minded."

He met her glare head on. "And you're being stubborn."

Hawke frowned and pulled her eyes away. "Traits that go hand in hand, and ones we both apparently carry. …I guess it's for the best that you go."

He sighed when she moved to brush past him. "As you wish," he muttered as he headed towards the door. "But please…be careful."

His last words fell on deaf ears as he departed. It was difficult enough, dealing with all this temptation; but while she could be infuriating at times, he knew his worry was stronger than any amount of irritation. Despite his endless internal struggle, nothing weighed heavier on him than the uncertainty of Hawke's safety, and so he left, and quietly prayed to the Maker to keep her and their comrades safe in the places that he could not follow.

* * *

><p>To say Hawke was confused would be an understatement. A little irritated, but very much confused, more than anything. Merrill betraying her in favor of the demon's offer was inconvenient...but expected. However, when she'd called Aveline along last minute, she never could have foreseen her trusted friend in the guard betraying her like that in the Fade. Anders had, ironically, been the only one to stay by her side, which was also unexpected – Anders being the least rational member of their group. Maker, this was awkward.<p>

She sighed, rubbing a hand over her face and pushing her long dark hair over her shoulders. It _could_ have gone much worse. At least Feynriel was safe, and no harm came to anyone – apart from the psychological trauma of having to cut down two of her closest friends in there... What was going to be even more uncomfortable was talking to them all about it tomorrow.

Adjusting the straps on her new belt, she shut the front door to her estate behind her and tucked away her 'arsenal' for the task ahead of her. When she finally found herself in the Chantry courtyard, she could not help but feel like a complete ass. The Void take her stubbornness. Sure, the Chantry had some laws and opinions that she found she very much disagreed with, but since when did she ever let it get in the way of how she treated people, how she viewed their own opinions? And to _Sebastian_ of all people? He had only ever been kind to her! …And here she was, 'accidentally' tempting him away from his vows to top it all off.

Now she really felt like an ass.

True, when it came to talking with him about certain things it was like talking to wall, and the only place they got when they disagreed was at each other's throats. But the other half of the time, it was all she could do to keep her hands, eyes, and mind from wandering to dark and dangerous places whenever he was near. That kiss last night… She could not believe her words had actually worked on him, but the result of her verbal experiment could not have gone any better. A nervous finger rose to touch her lips, still burning from his touch and yet so cold without it. She did not even want to _try_ reasoning or understanding where things were going between the two of them, so she stuck to her guns, pushed everything aside, took a deep breath, and strode in through the front doors of the Chantry.

Thankfully, she did not have to go far to find him, for there he was, right beside one of the Chantry's lower storage rooms. Quietly, she set aside the gift she had brought along with her. The smell of incense burned through her lungs and the familiar scent caused a ripple across her flesh as she approached him.

"I came to offer a truce," she cleared her throat. "Although I wasn't sure if you were ready to talk to me yet…"

"Hawke!" Sebastian exclaimed. When his eyes met hers, he looked a combination of shocked and relieved. "Thank the Maker you've returned safely from the Fade."

She could not help but blush at his open concern when he set his firm hands on her shoulders, feeling all fluttery inside when he smiled down at her. It was difficult to pull her gaze away, even after all this time. Staring into his eyes was like staring into an infinite cloudless sky. He still managed to leave her breathless and jittery, just like the first time they had met. She had just perfected hiding it at this point.

Recalling her purpose, she shook her head and peaked around his shoulder into the half-organized storeroom. "I'm not interrupting anything am I?"

"Oh, no," Sebastian's eyes followed hers and he picked up a nearby crate, setting it with the others. "I had agreed, upon my return, to tend to some of the Chantry's duties. Elthina stopped by earlier to inform me of my obligations for the evening."

A light smile found its way onto her face. "And cleaning the storerooms is on tonight's to-do list?"

He sighed, his smile mimicking hers. "It's a grueling task, but someone has to do it."

"It's very kind of you."

Sebastian eyes grew distant and nostalgic as he glanced around the darkened Chantry halls. "I owe her a lot. …Back then," he chuckled, "Elthina was so patient with me. She even helped me escape once – gave me coin and everything – but, as I said, I always came back. The day I returned, I gave her back the gold she had given me, and she convinced me to attend the Chant that morning – the first I had ever _mindfully_ attended." He paused a moment before resuming his task. "I was a changed man that day. Helping out with duties such as this, it's the least I could do."

"You sound very close to her, to this place," Hawke smiled, suddenly feeling even worse than before.

"It was difficult at first," he reminded her. She remembered him saying he shuddered to think back on his first nights in the Chantry. "I was such a terror – barely eating, keeping mostly to my room, and snapping at every brother and sister who attempted to approach me." He laughed, the red on his face revealing his shame. "Once a prince who had everything at his disposal, I was suddenly a boy who had nothing, save his wounded pride. But a boy with nothing soon finds his reasons to become a man."

She sighed, her stomach working itself into knots as she watched him. If he'd chosen to look at her then, her guilt would be written all over her face, plain as day. "…Listen," She paused when he looked up at her. "I'm sorry. About earlier. I just...get so sensitive on the topic of mages recently, probably because of what happened with Bethany, and I… I'm just glad you're not upset… Because I wanted to give you something."

"Hawke," Sebastian stepped away from the storeroom's entrance and held up a hand. "You don't need to-"

"'Don't,' but I already did," she grinned and turned to where she had placed her surprise. "And besides…" She stood, placing a masterfully renewed ivory-colored yew longbow into his extended hand. "I have a feeling this was meant to be yours anyway."

"My grandfather's bow…" Sebastian's eyes widened and his mouth hung open, turning the item gently in his hands to see the crest of Starkhaven etched clearly into its side. "But…where did you get it?"

"One of the Flint Company men did some looting. I figured I'd return the favor," she grinned, watching as he held it in unabashed wonder, treating it almost as if it were made out of glass that might shatter at his touch. "I…would have given it to you sooner, but it was handled poorly in the wrong hands. I wanted to see it restored before returning it to its rightful owner."

Sebastian looked at a loss for words. "I… Thank you, truly. It was… hard to mourn the loss of a thing when my family died. But I did think of it." His smile lit his eyes.

"So," Hawke grinned, elated with her personal victory. "What's the story behind that bow?"

He turned it over again in his hands, holding it upright and marveling at its restored beauty. Truly, the smith in Lowtown was a master of his trade and well worth the coin she spent.

"As the youngest son, it was my place to lead Starkhaven's militia. But I never had a talent for swordplay. Too much getting hit," he chuckled and drew back the string. "My grandfather said the bow is a wise man's weapon. You can defend your city without opening its gates. He told me the day I could pull the string on his bow, it would be mine." He gently released his hold.

"So why didn't you have it with you?"

"I was thirteen when my grandfather made me that promise," he explained. "I would rise at dawn to practice my shots until I could hit the eye slit of a helmet from the top of the ramparts. But…my parents pledged me to the Chantry before I could show him."

She watched in fascination as he reconnected with the lost item from his past, inwardly applauding herself. She'd never seen him so genuinely happy before, and she made a mental note to try and see him smile like this more often. A blush rose to her cheeks when she studied his face, amazed that a man so fierce in battle could wear such a gentle smile. It was beautiful.

"Were you and your grandfather close?" Her blush deepened, her stomach growing tight when he smiled up at her.

"He was a man of the world – Prince of Starkhaven – but he had the most unshakable faith in the Maker. When my parents threatened to pledge me to the Chantry, he told me he'd gladly trade his title for a life of contemplation. 'The Maker ordained a place for each of us,' I remember him saying. 'We have only to serve.'"

Her eyes fell to his hands as he held the bow proudly, and a sad smile fell over her face. "I'm sorry I never got a chance to meet them. To…save them."

"…I know." The look on his face mirrored her own. "And I am sorry I never got the chance to know _your_ family. …You're a true friend, Hawke." He brought his eyes to hers and offered a warm smile. "You brought me this to remember and honor them. …But if I could bring back our lowest servant by snapping it in half, I'd do it without regrets."

Despite his doubts, despite his struggle with indecision, he was truly an amazing person. Prince or brother in the Chantry… How was it that a man like him found his way into her life?

"We're all probably better off without regrets," she smiled sadly. Suddenly the world grew heavy, a dark cloud forming over her mind and thoughts.

He searched her eyes briefly, looking for meaning.

...What did she have to offer someone like him, apart from temptation? Why did he keep looking for answers in someone like her, whose life seemed held together be sheer willpower alone? Sometimes it still felt like her past had a way of creeping into her mind and filling her with so much doubt.

"Hawke…"

Still his eyes lingered, pausing as though they understood just as well as she did. They both struggled with it.

But amidst the swirls of icy blue, the longing in his eyes nearly sent her over the edge, into a familiar and terrifying place where she did not want to linger, not anymore – dangling on a thread somewhere between lust and uncertainty. She swallowed hard, ignoring the rush of need and fighting desperately the loneliness that seemed to plague them both.

She looked into his eyes, older than the ones she first met, but still clouded with so much doubt and hesitation. And she knew then: She was the cause.

...

_"Either you have a thing for distressed damsels, or you've got an unusually high tolerance for women with baggage," she joked. "Shall I add that to the list beside your persistence?"_

_"Is the damsel in distress?" he chuckled, his mirth lighting up his eyes._

_"Only waiting for my handsome prince to sweep me off my feet and onto his noble steed," she set the back of her hand against her temple, pretending to swoon. "Taking me away to far away lands where we live happily ever after…"_

Her memory flashed to another time, more recent, remembering how he explained and relived his happiness late one night, revealing what exactly he had found in the Chantry.

_Hawke listened intently as he spoke, a genuine smile resting softly on his lips._

_"Soon after, a newfound purpose had given strength to my unsure steps. Where previously I lived a life believing in nothing and entitling myself to everything, I then found faith in Andraste and in the Maker. I gave myself wholly to a pure, altruistic life, and it was then that I knelt and swore my vows, filling a void in my soul and reshaping the person I used to be into the person I wanted to become. The Chantry has given me everything…"_

_..._

It hit her, hard, then...

She didn't care about Starkhaven, didn't care about how much uncertainty she had brought him, in both the past and the present.

She realized then that she wanted him to leave the Chantry behind for _her_.

She thought back to their kiss, to the words she'd used against him, intended to manipulate, intended for personal gain. How long had she spent, secretly wishing and waiting for the day that he would leave everything else behind and take only her. She'd nearly succeeded in helping a man, helping _him_ break his vow, his oath, just because she had a crush and they had a brief history – just because she felt entitled to anything she wanted because her life had been 'hard.'

Her self-disgust rose higher and higher with each passing moment.

She knew what she could do to fix this. ...But it would break her heart all over again.

"Maker forgive me," she whispered, her voice pained, hating what she had done to him, what she was doing to both of them by being so..._weak_. "I…can't do this." She tore her eyes from him and stepped away. "And neither can you."

"Mara…"

"Don't."

She pinned him with a half-glare, upset with the situation more than with him. He was clearly fighting an internal battle that she could do nothing about, apart from add to his struggle. When he opened his mouth again to speak, she held up a finger to silence him as they both stood in the quiet, darkened halls. Her heart was hammering in her chest and she felt sick to her stomach.

If she truly cared about him...

'_I do.'_

"Don't make this harder than it needs to be. I…shouldn't have pushed you like that, last night, and now I… I never…" She paused and swallowed the sob that threatened to escape. This was harder than she thought, and she knew she was sounding like a bumbling idiot. Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes, but could not meet his. "It's…not fair, for either of us, especially not for you. I understand. You have new promises to keep, and now…so do I."

This was for the best… This was for him.

She took a staggered step to the side to move around him and paused, still unable to meet his eyes.

"We can still be friends," she muttered quietly, but the tears had already begun to fall. "But that's all."

And she fled the Chantry, hating the place like never before.

* * *

><p>Varric's eyes scanned over the faces at the table, peaking over his hand of cards and reading their eyes like a book. He had to give them credit for trying. But every week his challengers went home a little more broke, leaving him a little more wealthy; and somehow they kept coming back with more coin to spend. Once or twice Hawke had beaten him – out of luck, he had said at the time. Isabella usually won because she cheated. But it never got old. A smirk found its way to his lips as he reached his hand out. His victory was already being served to him on a golden platter…<p>

A loud crash abruptly caught his attention and his eyes shot towards the doorway of his Hanged Man suite, where the heavy stomping of footsteps was steadily approaching.

"There aren't many who can make an entrance like that." Isabella set down her hand and exchanged glances with Varric. "And it doesn't sound good."

Anders, Fenris, and Merrill looked between the two before a leather boot came flying in through the door and narrowly missed their heads.

"Stupid, stupid, _stupid_!" Hawke shouted, mostly to herself as she kicked off her other boot and began to pace Varric's room. Gritting her teeth, she turned and hurled one of her daggers into the wooden wall at the back of the room. "Varric!" She turned her reddened eyes towards her dwarven friend, but whether they were red from tears or from raw anger was difficult to tell. "Drink."

Varric closed his eyes and nodded, not liking where this was going. "You heard the lady," he swished his hands at the three shocked companions, sparing Isabella the sudden un-invite.

The pirate stood, knowing eyes meeting the others' with silent orders. "I'll buy."

When she began to usher the three of them out, Merrill looked over her shoulder with wide eyes. "Is Hawke all right?"

"She's fine, kitten," Isabella smirked. "She just gets like this when she's thirsty."

The Dalish elf's eyes widened even further, but before she could respond, she was pushed gently towards the door.

"Perhaps I should-" Anders moved to turn around, but the Rivaini duelist shot him a warning look.

"There's only one person, apart from me, who knows Hawke well enough to brave those waters," she assured him. "And he's already inside with her. It's best if you all go home for the night."

"Good luck," Fenris muttered quietly, glancing into her eyes and smiling.

"…Thanks," she grinned, the slightest bit of a blush tinting her cheeks. Once the three of them were gone, Isabella held up three fingers to the bartender and prepared herself for the worst.

What greeted her ears when she shut Varric's door had her arching a brow.

"Andraste is a fucking thief and a whore," Hawke mumbled, barefoot and facedown on Varric's bed. "And I'm a blind nug and an ex-whore… So which of us is worse?"

Varric sat at the edge of his chair, pulled up beside the foot of his bed. "Well we all know you had good reasons for being a whore, and blind nugs _can_ be quite cute. I'd say you have the upper hand here."

"Then why doesn't it feel that way…"

Isabella stepped forward, handing Varric two mugs and slowly taking a sip of her own.

"I sense a story here that needs telling, Hawke." Varric calmly suggested.

There was a short pause in the room, none of the three rogues speaking up until Hawke sighed heavily.

"I kissed him." She muttered miserably into the bed sheets.

"…The Chantry-lover?" Isabella's eyebrows shot up. "In my experience, kissing leads to all the fun stuff, so I fail to see how this is a _bad_ thing." She took a seat on the edge of the bed.

"I pushed him too far. I ruined everything," Hawke finally sat up to stare at the wooden floorboards with a dejected sigh. "He told me he had vows, but I didn't care… I kissed him and now I've pushed him away."

"Did he kiss you back?"

Hawke nodded dejectedly.

"Then you didn't do anything wrong," Isabella shrugged. "It's his own damn fault for swearing stupid vows he can't keep."

"I have to agree," Varric nodded. "He's not exactly the picture of innocence here," He leaned forward to hand Hawke her drink, which she eagerly took.

"Neither am I…" She sighed and took several gulps of ale to try and numb all the pain and confusion.

They didn't understand. Sebastian tried to tell her that he had new promises to keep, but she had to go and force the issue. At the time she thought it was funny, thought that teasing him was just a fun little game to rile him up… But the truth was that it was her piss-poor excuse to find ways to get close to something she knew she couldn't have. And that thought only fueled her growing self-loathing.

"I knew what I was doing," she explained quietly. "I just didn't care. But I had no right to cross those boundaries and tempt him into breaking his vows on a whim of a tryst with no promise of a future." She sighed angrily. "He's a Prince. And he may be a brother but he's still a man, still susceptible to desires just like any other."

Her red eyes stared down into the swirling liquid in her mug. She must have looked like a wreck. It took a lot to actually make her cry these days – having drained most of her tears during her year at the Rose. She hadn't felt this bad since the Deep Roads…

"Hawke, sweetheart," Varric sighed, picking up her hand. "You really can't blame yourself for this one."

"Not one bit," Isabella insisted, still not convinced that Mr. Fancy-priest deserved a pardon. As far as she was concerned, he was going to get an earful.

"And you know, you're right. He _is_ just a man," Varric continued. "But you're just as human as he is, and every bit excused for having feelings and wanting to act on them. You did what felt right to you, and hey," he shrugged "no one can fault you for that."

"And if they do, I can promise you they'll soon find two blades shoved into the deepest and darkest reaches of their arses."

Hawke snorted a chuckle in between sips and sighed after catching her breath. Looking between her two closest friends, she forced a smile – which was always a good start.

"…Thanks you guys. And…thanks for the drink." She downed her final gulp and set the mug aside. "I needed that."

"Of course you did." Isabella sat her mug beside Hawke's. "And that's why we also need a girls day," she announced with a grin. "Screw men – no offense, Varric."

"None taken."

"Let's go out, just us four girls." Isabella set a friendly hand on Hawke's. "I swear by the buckles on my boots, you'll forget all about whats-his-name and have the time of your life."

"I'd like that." Hawke smiled, genuinely, at the two of them. "…Thank you, really. I feel much better than I did when I got here."

"I certainly hope so." Varric snuck a glance over his shoulder, at the protruding blade sticking into his wall. "It's a good thing I trust your aim Hawke, and that I'm a much shorter target than everyone else."

Face growing red, she cleared her throat and muttered an apology as she walked over to retrieve her dagger. "I think I really need to kill something soon."

"Then it's a date," Varric chuckled. "Before you girls go off and have fun, let's go kick some slaver butt tomorrow, or maybe thugs, or Tal-Vashoth, or anti-Qunari zealots…take your pick. The cities full of targets."

"Don't remind me," Hawke sighed. "…On second thought," she paused as she walked over to put on her boots again, her voice cold as steel. "Remind me tomorrow. I'm going home to sleep, and when I wake up, I fully intend on releasing my wrath upon every wrong-doer in Kirkwall."

Varric shuddered. "I almost feel like I should warn them."

"I love it when Hawke talks like that," Isabella smirked. "Count me in."

"Until tomorrow then," Hawke smiled, gesturing a thankful nod before disappearing out the door. "Thanks again you guys."

The cool air hitting her face was like being dunked in a cold river, all the warmth in her body from the alcohol quickly leaving as the temperature change sobered her right up. It was strange, getting used to these chilly nights. Summer seemed to have lasted far too long this year, and even though a good 'sobering' was the last thing Hawke wanted, the breeze in her walk back home was welcomed with open arms.

It was too painful, thinking about anything anymore. She decided, as she neared the front door of her estate, that focusing on her mother – on the only family she had left – was still the best thing for her. She entered slowly, hoping not to disturb anyone, as the hour was a complete mystery to her by this point. Gesturing quietly for her faithful mabari, Sten, to follow, she made her way up to her room where she changed into her fancy robes and curled up in her chair by the fire.

It was so strange what was happening, in _and_ outside of Kirkwall. Sometimes it was just so easy to get caught up in her own little world, to forget about the fifty letters sitting on her desk downstairs and just lose herself in the here-and-now, and in her self-absorbed troubles. Honestly. Her homeland was still recovering from the Blight, countless families still homeless and torn apart. Even in Kirkwall there was a war between fanatics brewing within these very walls, a thin and fragile thread keeping the mages and templars from killing one another. All the hatred, gangs, thugs, and unrest… It was no wonder she sought this quiet and solace-

"I thought I might find you up here…"

Blinking out of her trance, Hawke whipped her head around in surprise.

"Maker's breath, mother," she breathed, a relieved smile on her face as she leaned back into her large chair. "I swear you ghost in and out of rooms as though you were partially in the Fade."

"I'm sorry darling," she chuckled. "Your door was open and I thought I'd join you by the fire."

Leandra Hawke approached with elegant footsteps, well suited to their recently re-acquired lifestyle. Regaining the estate had, at least, brought a smile to her mother's eyes that seemed to brighten every day.

"I still haven't gotten any sort of explanation for that lop-sided grin of yours from yesterday," she teased, gently taking a seat on the arm of her chair. "I hope I at least get to meet this boy."

A mild blush found its way to Hawke's cheeks, but she brushed the comment aside. "Nothing to worry yourself over," She swallowed hard the feelings of bitterness and kept the conversation light. "But what about _your_ suitor?"

Her mother simply smiled, hiding her own blush behind her fingertips. "All right, you win," she chuckled. "No more questions."

Hawke grinned and shook her head, peaking up at her mother's expression as she leaned her head against her lap. Seeing her like this, happy again, was all the reason in the world for Mara to still feel like she had at least done something right. She felt the pads of her mother's fingers brush through her hair, smoothing out the knots and tangles she acquired daily, and her eyes slid shut. She could feel the warmth of the fire, smell the familiar scent of her mother's perfume. …It had been a long time since she felt this level of contentment.

The knowledge of their safety was enough to strengthen her determination and provide support for her lingering doubts. The actions she took, the choices she had made had kept her mother safe, despite facing the constant perils this city threw at her. She still had a reason to get out of bed every day and make a difference here.

"Bodhan and Sandal have been absolute treasures," her mother softly commented.

"I tried to tell them they didn't need to stay, but they insisted," Hawke gave a tired smile.

"Well I'm glad they did," Leandra chuckled softly. "It's nice to have some company while you're off on your adventures…"

Hawke's eyes opened slowly, and quickly lost themselves in the flames.

Losing father, their home, Carver, and now Bethany… It stilled weighed heavy on them both.

"I miss them too, Mother."

She would keep them safe. She would continue to fight and she would protect her mother at all costs, no matter what.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: _Halfway through my editing/revising and __**still**__ kicking myself over OCD habits and wondering if I've missed anything until this point… Bah. _

_I'd like to take this time to thank 'stormewolf' for the helpful note about Starkhaven and its Princes. It was the funniest thing, because I just so happened to be reading up on random facts about the DA universe (the day before I got the review) and its geography when I came across the section detailing Starkhaven and how its rulers are 'Princes' and not 'Kings.' xD It's been my first editing goal – that and the capitalizing of random DA terms – but I'll try and keep up with the little details like that… because I am OCD. :) I welcome any and all criticism with open arms. Writing fanfics is a great way to improve on all aspects of your creativity & fictional writing._

_Thank you to all my readers and reviewers, and I hope you continue to enjoy the story!_


	9. All That Remains, Part I

With steady hands Sebastian pushed open the Chantry doors and walked with a hollow expression down the nave of the building. The silence of the hall was deafening, the only sound being his echoing heels against the floor. To think that these halls had been his refuge, had become his home and his safe haven when he had nowhere else to go, it was truly humbling. The Grand Cleric, the brothers and sisters here were like family, replacing the one he had lost. And he had lost much.

Lighting a candle, he knelt before Andraste and bowed his head, grateful for the stillness and the calm to clear his mind. It was by no means strong, this plastered determination, but he had to do something. Yet one more sleepless night and he was no closer to knowing the answers than he was a year ago. But Andraste guide him, he had to try. Things felt even worse since last night… But Hawke was right. This was for the best.

Lifting his gaze, he set his jaw and closed his eyes. He wanted to find that peace again, make everything right and simple again… Maker willing, he had to try. Another pair of echoing steps told him that Elthina had heeded his request to meet and talk with him – an attempt to end this torment, once and for all.

"Sebastian," Elthina inclined her head with a patient smile. "Forgive the assumption, but I do hope this isn't about your status in the Chantry. You know we've already discussed this..."

"Yes, your Grace," he breathed deeply, prepared to meet resistance in all forms today. "But I'm giving it all up," he exclaimed. "I made a vow to the Chantry, and it was wrong to turn my back."

"Sebastian," her old voice pleaded as she held her arms out in front of her, "_Listen_ to yourself. You're as impulsive now as the day you turned away from us." She shook her head. "Do you think the Maker wants another rashly-spoken vow that you'll abandon when the next passion takes you?"

"I will not-" An image of Hawke flashed through his mind, smiling in the sunlight as the wind carried her hair around her, and then another, breathless and slick with sweat as she sat in his lap and clung to him, her fingers digging into the flesh of his back… _'Andraste preserve me.'_

"This is your _life_, child," she warned, "Don't spend it being blown about like a weathervane. …Ah, but here's one of Hawke's companions, come to goad you into further heroics, no doubt."

Sebastian's eyes widened when he met with the piercing golden irises of a very irritated-looking pirate. When he expected to meet 'resistance in all forms,' one of the last ones he'd expected was hers.

"Isabella?" He blinked.

"I know, right?" she smirked, the gesture not really meeting her eyes. "Not exactly the kind of place I'd go to knock a few back, but at least its…big."

Elthina sighed and took her leave, not even bothering to spare the scantily clad woman a breath of advice. It would only fall on deaf ears.

"Right." The Rivaini pirate walked up to face Sebastian, crossing her arms and pinning him with a glare. "It must be painfully obvious, then, that I wouldn't be here if I didn't have to be."

"I see," Sebastian sighed, knowing she'd probably heard a good deal of the conversation he was attempting to have. "So it's safe to assume you are not here to invite me to a game of Wicked Grace either."

"Not this time," she shrugged, "But depending on the outcome of this little chat, I might have to take you up on that."

"Challenge noted," he nodded his head and faced her fully. "So what is this about?"

"Don't play dumb, Prince Valiant."

"…Who?"

"Never mind." She shook her head and pointed a finger at him. "Even I understood what that old bird was trying to say to you; and yes, I was eavesdropping. But apparently you're the only sod here too blind to see that you're making a huge mistake."

Sebastian sighed, rubbing his fingers through his hair. "I knew some…wouldn't agree, and I don't expect you to understand, but I _can't_ break my oath. And for what? Why would I want to rule Starkhaven and deal with jackals like Lady Harimann for the rest of my life?"

"Easy tiger. You're getting ahead of yourself." Her brows furrowed together. "I don't give half a rats ass what you do with your lands. If it were up to me, I'd take what was mine. But it's not. I'm here because you don't seem to realize who you're hurting or what you're doing."

His chest tightened, not wanting to hear that he was the cause of any of Hawke's distress. He didn't even want to consider the possibility that she was going through the same things he was.

"I…" He growled. "…I don't know. Nothing makes sense anymore."

Her eyes softened somewhat and a tired sigh escaped her lips. Shifting all her weight to one of her legs, she looked at him plainly. "Well, what's the big deal? Being royalty doesn't sound all that bad. It's not my thing, but I can certainly see it has its...advantages."

"…That's exactly the question I've been praying for guidance about." He shook his head, disgraced with his indecision and even more shamed that Isabella was now the one pointing out the flaws in him and his plans. "The truth is…when I think of going to Starkhaven…calling on allies like Flora Harriman, and all the corrupt scheming nobles... My throat swells shut in horror. When I think about staying here, in the Chantry, I'm at peace."

"And if you truly have given it up, what then?" she asked, hoping that her prodding would result in some real answers.

"…I suppose I must convince the Grand Cleric that my commitment is sincere. Then I will remain here to represent the Maker's interests as she thinks best."

She turned from him suddenly with a huff, running a hand over her face and swearing under her breath. "You poor, poor fool..." There was a short silence before she rounded on him to give him the most intense look he had ever seen from the Rivaini pirate. "You're about to lose the best thing that ever happened to you, but you've got your head so far up Andraste's golden ass that you can't even see it."

His blue eyes fell away to stare at the marble floor beneath them, feeling at a complete loss. "I… I do care about Hawke, but I… I can't…. I knelt and swore before the Maker that I would take no bride but Andraste. If I broke my vows to be with her, I wouldn't be worthy of her. …I already have enough sins to atone-"

"Bullshit."

He turned his shocked – and slightly insulted – eyes towards her when she leaned against the railing of the altar and gave a terse laugh.

"You know why you're so miserable? Why you can't make up your mind about a single important thing in your life?"

He simply stared at her, hoping with all his might she knew the answers that seemed to have evaded him for so long.

"Sometimes it takes living a simple life to know when you're living for the _wrong_ reasons."

He stopped to ponder her words, his gaze falling to the floor once again.

...

_"I know how you feel," she offered quietly._

_Sebastian smiled. "There's a difference though." His self-disgust was difficult to hide. "You are sacrificing a whole lot more than I need to; I'm just avoiding responsibility."_

_"But it was one you did not ask for," she set a comforting hand on his arm. "Just give it time. You'll find what it is you're looking for, even if it lands you in dirty back alleys or unfamiliar arms," she grinned, "You'll find your calling and rise to meet it when the time is right."_

_"You sound so wise for someone so young." His gratitude was prevalent in his smile._

_"My father and mother taught me never to doubt what your heart is telling you, to always love yourself," she laughed sadly, "and here all I've been doing lately is doubting and hating myself for what I've become. I am grateful to have had the support that I did, growing up." She looked to him and offered another smile. "I'm sure your parents mean well. Just try and listen. …And don't take the time you have with people for granted, because you never know when you might lose them."_

Hawke...

Several moments of silence stretched on between the two before Isabella finally cleared her throat.

"Look. I came here because I initially wanted to give you a beating for putting Hawke through this. She's a great girl, the best I've ever known." His eyes met hers and the look she wore was grave and serious. "And you're going to lose her if you don't get your shit together. …I'd threaten you," a grin ghosted over her lips, "But it's easy to see that you care about her – by my guess, just as much – whether you want to admit it or not." After another moment, she straightened her revealing bodice and stretched. "I've been in here for too long," she announced as she spared him one final glance before walking past him. "Think about what I've said, okay? You're very pretty, and I don't want to have to break your nose."

Sebastian simply blinked, the resounding 'thunk' of the closing doors signaling that he was once again alone with his thoughts. He could barely find the strength to move, let alone continue on with his day. His conversation with Isabella played itself over and over again in his head, and soon it was Hawke's voice he was hearing in his mind...

"_So decide," she inclined her head in his direction, meeting his eyes briefly. "What's important to you?"_

…_Her eyes were tracing patterns in the clouds. "It seems easy at first," she wore a sideways grin. "But you have yet to answer the question."_

"_I…" His eyes found their way back up to the sky. "I guess you're right," he chuckled._

"_It's harder than it sounds, deciding what's important. Most people don't even have a clue what they want."_

...What _did_ he want?

Much later that evening, Sebastian actually found himself amongst the citizens during vespers. He wasn't, by any means, ignoring his duties, but everything felt so clouded and distorted, much worse than it ever had been. None of his thoughts were able to take shape, let alone form sentences that weren't questions. So it was during this hour that he decided to literally sit and ponder at his own thoughts while he had the peace and quiet to do so.

After the sermon had ended, he remained seated when everyone else moved to stand and leave; but a familiar face caught his eye. Much to his surprise, Fenris was seated in the upper level pews, appearing to have been seeking his own form of quiet contemplation away from the crowds.

As Sebastian slowly approached him, the pensive look on his face revealed the elf's inner turmoil.

"The Maker didn't free me," he said flatly, not bothering to turn and acknowledge when Sebastian sat a polite distance beside him.

Sebastian simply smiled, grateful for the company and the distraction. "I see you've been thinking about what I said."

"I freed myself," Fenris continued. "If the Maker did anything, He watched. Why should I thank him for that?"

"Is it so hard to believe the Maker cares for you? Maybe He gave you the chance to escape."

It felt so good, being the one to give comfort and guidance when it was needed. Sebastian chuckled to himself, wishing that he had a clone to talk to, because apparently just 'thinking' about his troubles was getting him nowhere.

Fenris paused, seeming to struggle with his own words. "It doesn't feel like the Maker cares for me… or anyone."

His reply came naturally. "We all make our own choices, to do good as well as evil. That is our doing, not the Maker's," he explained.

"Perhaps." He paused again, his green eyes falling to stare at the ground. "It's…been a long time since I gave it any thought."

Setting a comforting hand on the elf's shoulder, Sebastian's smile once again lit his face. "It's not too late to start."

Fenris returned the gesture, sparing him a sideways glance and offering a polite smile of his own. "You've been a good friend," he admitted with a sigh. "But while I think on your words, I think it might be wise to consider taking your own advice as well."

As Fenris stood to leave, Sebastian could not help but wonder if all of Thedas was secretly laughing at him – if every soul in the Free Marches knew about his troubles and could see his path clearly while he could not.

One thing was certain, he decided as he stifled a yawn, the Chantry floors weren't going to clean themselves. So as he stood in the now empty halls, he decided in that moment that he would try to take his own advice for once, living life one moment at a time and considering the choices he made, and perhaps his path would reveal itself to him in due time.

* * *

><p>Several weeks of silence passed between them. The days spent adventuring in her company slowly returned back to normal after that, but the time spent around her did little to quell his growing unrest. Their passing glances and simple words they exchanged seemed innocent enough, but there was something beneath it, in the both of them, that still brought a fire and an urgency in his heart, screaming at him to act. To decide. Thoughts gave way to feelings, which gave way to flashbacks of every moment they had spent together, and soon she was at the forefront of his mind once again.<p>

The winter months seemed to come so quickly; and while it was difficult at first, Sebastian had convinced himself, for as long as possible, that their decision really _had_ been for the best. Spending much of that time in the Chantry had given him the peace he sought...at first. But slowly, inevitably, he began to question his role in Starkhaven, began to think about her again. The peace and certainty he had found in avoidance had come and gone, and far too quickly for his comfort. Yet day by day, he had kept true to his word after speaking with Fenris and Isabella in the Chantry. With a fierce determination he had decided then that he would face each obstacle open and honest, looking for the best possible solution to each problem he encountered. Hawke had taught him that.

A smile still touched his lips whenever he heard about each wrongdoer that found justice at her blades, each soul that found peace from her actions, and each life changed by her kindness. It was after the last Qunari incident, when Hawke had avenged the death of the Qunari delegate, that he admitted out loud, in prayer, how much she inspired him. Often now he thought back to the girl he met at the Blooming Rose, considered all that she had been through to get to where she was, and found that he no longer cared to keep his adoration in check. For the time being he simply kept it at a distance, letting each thought sort itself out one-by-one before he acted rashly or impulsively as he used to. That voice, nagging at the back of his mind, still sought absolution – sought a decision to the two biggest questions weighing heavily on his mind. But Sebastian took every day in stride. Each decision, whether made in the Chantry or out with Hawke or their companions in battle, he made with finality and with a clear conscience. He would no longer lie to himself, no longer be weighed down by the shame of his indecision. He would find that certainty, one step at a time, and shape the person he wanted to become through his decisions alone.

Each day that followed, Sebastian found himself outside the Chantry more and more. Just as before, when he had first found his faith, his unsure steps were gradually strengthening; and before he knew it, they had carried him further than he ever thought possible. The role the Chantry played in his life began to seem more and more like a large stepping stone, leading him across a river of deadly rapids. He found that taking the time to look for the next largest stone was going to be the safest way to cross without losing his footing and going under. The Chantry had been everything to him... But perhaps it was time to move on and find more. Despite all that Hawke had been through, she chose every day to wake up and make a difference in the world, no matter the weight or number of demands placed on her shoulders. She had sacrificed much for the sake of others.

...Could he do the same?

But the question would have to wait for an answer. The news that night of her mother's death sent him out immediately.

* * *

><p>It was evening when Sebastian left, dressed simply with a thick cloak pulled over himself for warmth. The air was cold and ice clung to the rooftops and street lamps, but it was not cold enough to deter him from the task ahead of him this night. He arrived at the front door of Hawke's estate to find Aveline and Varric, both looking very worried for their friend. And his.<p>

"Guard Captain," he nodded towards the towering redhead.

"No need for formalities, Vael." She sighed and looked up at the estate. "I knew, the moment we let this slip away it would come back to bite us. …And now, it's bit the person who least deserved it. We should have caught that bastard. I should have seen it coming…"

"Nobody saw this coming," Varric shook his head.

"Has she come out at all?"

He glanced between the two, but their silence spoke volumes on just how dire this situation was.

"Not since yesterday. Isabella and Fenris came by and told me as soon as they could, but…"

"The mistress asked to be alone," a dwarven voice called from behind them.

"Bodhan?" Aveline turned to face the reserved dwarf. "Is no one inside with her?"

"…When the mistress returned, she and her uncle got into a bit of a fight, they did." The nervous dwarf swallowed thickly. "I've never seen a more wretched look than the one she was givin.'" The dwarf wrung his hands together in a nervous fit. "Poor Leeandra. She didn't deserve that, not in that way…"

"Bodhan." Sebastian called out calmly, yet sternly. "Is Hawke _alone_ inside?"

"Y-yes, Messer. She asked specifically, after her uncle left, that everyone let her be. Ma' boy and I are paid for through the week at the nicest suite at the inn, bless her soul. She still looks after us, even when she-"

"Thank you, Bodhan. Go on and take care of Sandal. We'll let you know as soon as she's feeling well again." Varric ushered the shaken dwarf along with a smile and sighed. "I can't see this going well."

"We can't just stand around out here," Sebastian grit his teeth. "She shouldn't be left alone, not like this…"

"What do you intend to do, break in?" Aveline crossed her arms.

"Will you arrest me, Guard Captain?" Sebastian met her eyes before vaulting himself up the stone wall of the estate.

Aveline and Varric watched as he deftly made his way up to the railing of the second-story terrace, and she shook her head.

"I have half-a-mind to clap him in irons."

"Choir boy is stubborn," Varric nodded, "But it's that kind of attitude that'll get him where we wish we were."

Hoisting himself up and over the railing, Sebastian inhaled deeply as he surveyed the glass windows. Finding only darkness, he regrouped and decided on an appropriate strategy. There were no locks to pick and no doors; but she might need him. He would pay her back for it. Using his elbow, he broke the pane nearest to the window latch. Reaching an arm through, mindful of the shards, he slid the lock up and over to grant himself entry into the upper level of her mansion.

He stood and looked around cautiously, having no knowledge of _where_ to look first. A single glow from beyond the banister told him at least one candle was lit in the main room downstairs. Apart from that, it occurred to him that he had never actually been inside her estate before – despite the many times she offered. Just how many times had she been alone at night? Again and again he left her waiting, only ever answering her calls when he could no longer hold back his own burning desire for her, teasing her with a courteous meeting here and there… Just long enough for him to see and hear her before he was gone again. He had no right to question it any more.

Maker he had been a fool.

He cursed his own stupidity, but decided to mourn his own faults at a later date when a low growl sounded to his right, causing his hairs to stand on end as he slowly turned to find a very menacing looking mabari. Fangs, deadly as any blade, were bared for him to see as the beast snarled and lowered its head.

Sebastian held out his hands, a peaceful offering to show he carried no weapons and meant no harm to his mistress. He slowly lowered himself to one knee and bowed his head, keeping his gaze steady as he looked into the dark and threatening eyes of a very good guard dog. It was considered a great honor to own a mabari. That Hawke proved worthy was of no surprise to him.

The hound moved, it's golden fur smoothing out as he approached and circled Sebastian once, and then second time before leaning in to smell him. Having his fate decided by a mabari was – notably – one of the most frightening experiences of his entire life.

A moment later, the dog sat back on its haunches and finally let its tongue hang down, a playful wag to its short, stubby tail.

"You're a good dog," Sebastian whispered, standing to scratch behind his ears.

"He is." A voice came from behind him, cold and broken. "Though I'm sure I taught him better than to let men break into my house."

The mabari whined and trotted over to her, sitting loyally at her feet. She awarded him with an ear rub, her red and puffy eyes glued to her hound and her face barely visible in the dim light.

"He's all I have left…" her voice was barely above a whisper.

"Hawke," Sebastian stood and took a step towards her. "Are you…all right?"

She ambled over to her mother's bedroom door, lifting a gentle hand to rest upon the wood. "Everything I ever did… I did it for my family." Her voice grew shaky. "And one by one, they were all taken away from me. Father, Carver, Bethany… And now mother." Her nails dragged down the wooden door as she choked back a sob. "I've got no one. …No one."

Her legs gave out from beneath her as she slumped to the floor and leaned against the closed door, motionless, like a soul with nothing left.

In a flash he was by her side, reaching out to her, but she pushed him away with her left hand. He almost didn't catch it, but she grew limp as a corpse and paid no mind when he gently grasped her arm. Pulling it closer as he knelt beside her, he regarded the cuts and burns on her forearm.

"Where did you get these?" he asked sternly. "Why haven't they been healed?"

Scarcely conscious, she pulled her arm away and curled into a ball. "What does it matter? I ran out of potions after we left."

"Hawke, that was hours ago," he reached for her. "They need to be tended to."

"I don't need it." Her hollow voice matched her eyes as they stared past him at the floor. "I don't need anything. I'll be fine."

She withdrew from him and he recoiled. He had never known her to be like this. Her voice was desolate, void of anything. Only the rise and fall of her chest let him know she was still alive. If he didn't feel like she needed him so much, he would have asked the Maker to strike him down where he stood for causing any amount of tension, any amount of distrust or pain to this girl.

"Hawke, please-"

"Sebastian." She kept her gaze cast on the floor, not moving a single muscle. "Leave me. Tell the others to let me be alone."

He tried searching her eyes, but when she refused to meet his gaze, he hung his head. He prayed that this was only an effect of losing her mother, that she would be well and back to her old self in no time. What more could he do apart from honoring her request? Muttering an acknowledgement, he stood to leave and left a bag of coins beside her broken window.

Legs heavy with regret buckled beneath his weight when Sebastian reached the ground. Finding the others gone, he leaned against the nearest column he could find and slid down the side, sitting upon the ground with his eyes squeezed shut. The sun was gone, as was his ability to think or feel. All he wanted to do was beat the life out of somebody – the bloodmage, himself, anyone – and take her in his arms, like he had done all those years ago and show her, for once in his miserable life just how important she was to him…

Back then... He knew what he wanted. He always did. But he took without asking and expected the world to fall into place around him. Even back then though, he knew he wanted her, knew she was special. In less than a week she had showed him feelings he had never known, taught him humility and shame, had quickly become the one thing he wanted most.

But he was rash, and quick to anger. And he lost her.

Then, by some miracle, she had wandered back into his life, delivering justice to his family's murderers and offering a shoulder again – a friend who understood him like no one else did. But by then it had been too late. He had already found peace in his new life, and convinced himself he could not have her, thought he had everything he needed… But wanted her near him all the same.

He never told her. And now...it felt like he had already lost her all over again.

Maker, he was a fool.

Darkness dragged the hours late into the night, until fatigue and weariness were all that was let within him. This bitterness inside him, this self-loathing was twisting him into something dark, something he was not. He opened his eyes and looked out into the night. Now, more than ever, he was on the verge of a shadowy doubt that would completely undo him. It was killing him, being so close and yet further away from her than he ever had been. The soft, reassuring sounds of attempted prayer did nothing to cleanse it. He wanted to run, but knew that he would only be running from the same problem.

_"So decide… What's important to you?"_

"She is."

No more running. There was no turning back, no longer any doubt in his heart. In his mind he could see her, standing there and waiting to hear what he had been too afraid, too cowardly to proclaim all along...

Her smiles, her laughter, everything about her… He would do anything for her, would give anything to see her happy. The truth had never been so clear.

"...I love her."

* * *

><p><strong>AN**:_ :) _

_(…Give him what-for, Isabella! xD)_


	10. All That Remains, Part II

Not for a whole week did Hawke leave her estate, and the same worry weighed heavily on everyone's minds.

Sebastian and the others began convening at the Hanged Man during nearly all hours, each one curious, worried, and hopeful for the condition of their dear friend and leader. Varric and Isabella had gone in sometime during that span of uncertainty to at least make sure she was still eating.

"Barely," Isabella had told them with a sad look on her face. "She looks like she hasn't slept in days."

"Probably hasn't," Varric added, sliding his mug away.

"Bodhan was supposed to have returned today, was he not?" Merrill asked, seated on the edge of her chair.

Aveline nodded. "Perhaps he could make sure that she starts eating properly."

"Choir boy's gone there now to make sure that he and Sandal find their way back in with no problems. At least _someone_ will be around in case she needs it."

"And what of you, mage?" Fenris turned Anders. "Were you able to get inside?"

"It took a hell of a lot longer than I would have liked," he sighed. "But I was able to give her a quick look-over. Apart from her…mental state, she's healthy. The wounds are healed."

"That's something, at least," Varric shook his head, not quite feeling the optimist today.

The five of them had been discussing the issue rather intently in Varric's room, but each of them knew that what was left to heal was all up to her. Every one of them could say, with confidence, that Hawke was the type to get through this in no time... But as the days dragged on, their confidence began to waver. When she finally showed her face again, it seemed as though Bodhan had kept true to Sebastian's wishes and nursed her back to visible health. Her cheeks had some color in them again and she looked like she was gaining back some of the weight that had disappeared in her mourning. The only thing different about her, on the outside, was that she never really smiled anymore.

Each of her companions came to visit, at one point or another, giving their sympathies and offering their best wishes. They tried cheering her up, always letting her know that her friends would be there for her. All of them knew, though – they knew she was different. In the weeks that followed, she ghosted in and out of sight, her voice dull and her reactions slow and purposeless. She seemed more like a mage who had been made tranquil than the lively duelist they had grown to love. No one took more notice of this than Sebastian, who had stopped staying in the Chantry all together and now spent most of his time at the Hanged Man with the others. He knew her, before any of them, and it was torture watching her fade out of existence like this.

Varric thought it might do her some good to get some fresh air and 'kick bad-guy butt.' It seemed to work, at first, but times grew desperate with all the Qunari trouble. All the constant exertion caused her steps to grow clumsy where they were previously graceful. Her thrusts grew sluggish and her reaction time diminished before their very eyes, giving all of them plenty more reason to worry every time her failed actions resulted in brutal injuries.

Sebastian could only sigh heavily when she shooed them all away, telling them 'it was nothing' or 'it will be healed in no time.' But a small smile ghosted over his lips when she called them all 'insufferable doting ninnies' – a sure sign that the fiery spirit inside her was still there. It was just diminished from the rest of the world stepping all over it. Despite his worries for her safety and condition, the amount of strength and willpower kept within that small frame of hers continued to amaze him. Andraste forgive him, but she was perfect in his eyes.

Shutting the small wooden door behind him, his eyes scanned the confined corners of his cozy Chantry room. With gentle steps, he set his bow and quiver of arrows gently atop his modest wooden bed, a nostalgic smile on his face as he surveyed his private quarters. From the stone walls and floors to the details of the chipped wood on the desk and night stand holding the wash basin and pitcher – this place was etched into his memory.

He ran his square-tipped fingers across the wool blankets of his bed and carefully knelt beside it, and brought his hands together in a gentle and well-rehearsed manner. Some nights his hands had come together quickly, or roughly, when prayer was desperately needed. Others, they were slow, hesitant and unsure when he was particularly doubtful or ashamed. Slowly, his eyes slid shut, his head falling forward to rest against his knuckles. Five years he has knelt here in prayer, every night seeking guidance and peace from the Maker and His bride. Five years the Chantry has been his home, his sanctuary, and his savior from a life of selfishness and despair. …But for five years he has been hiding in the dark.

"Maker grant your humble servant strength," he smiled. "For he has quite the task set before him."

His blue eyes opened, alight with a fire he had never known before. His purpose, his path had never been clearer as each metaphorical stone appeared in his mind, allowing him safe passage across a river he'd been staring at for far too long. Regrets? None. Every step he had taken had brought him here for a reason, whether by chance alone or by the Maker's guiding hand; and only a repentant brother could have been seen the error of his ways. Only now, with renewed strength did he understand that a good ruler, that a _Prince_ would need the stubbornness and determination that his past had given him, the patience and discipline that the Chantry had granted him… and the confidence and humility that Hawke had showed him. All of these he had acquired, every trial he had faced and each obstacle he had overcome, everything he was had made him into what he was meant to be, what he was _deciding_ to be: a true Prince of Starkhaven.

Ready to face a new chapter in his life, he stood, re-equipping his weapons and adjusting his armor. There was still much to be done here, many wrongs that he had to make right. But Sebastian didn't think she was quite ready for that yet. With faith, and patience, he would wait. But until that time, there was plenty going on in Kirkwall to bide him.

Only time would tell…

* * *

><p>Hawke sat with her legs tucked beneath her on the floor beside her bed, her faithful mabari at her side with his head in her lap. Her muted green eyes were cast out at nothing, bored and directionless. Maker knows she'd tried to keep busy, tried to keep this damned city from eating itself alive over the growing Qunari threat. Her attempts at peace had allowed contentment in Kirkwall for a time, but after the murder of the Viscount's son, it seemed that unrest had settled like a thick fog over the city. And here was one person standing in the middle of both sides, just like with the mages and templars, and no one else seemed willing or able to find any middle ground.<p>

"Distractions aren't working anymore, boy," she muttered, bringer her hand up to slowly rub his left ear. She rotated her sore shoulder, stiff from her clumsy mistake in a recent Qunari brawl. "And they're starting to hurt."

Sten opened one of his dark brown eyes and leaned his head to look up at her.

"And now it seems like I'm all that stands between this...chaos… Ah, balls," she shook her head. "Life would be better if I were back at the Rose."

Her mabari turned to look her right in the eyes, a curious tilt to his head, to which she gave a heavy sigh.

"Okay. That was a lie. But if you even _think_ about dying on me I swear, by Andraste's stuffy underclothes, that I am leaving for Antiva to drink myself silly and throw stones at the Crows."

Sten gave an indignant bark and stood on all fours to smother his owner in wet, sloppy kisses.

"Ah! Stop… stop!" she giggled, falling over onto her side and admitting defeat. "Wonderful. Now I smell like mabari breath on top of all the blood, dirt, and grease that's surely stained itself into my skin by now…"

With a great amount of effort, she sat up and leaned her head against the foot of her bed. Satisfied with her response, her mabari simply walked in circles until he slumped down beside her, and was asleep within minutes.

"Where would I be without you," she whispered, a sad smile working its way onto her face. "Without my friends…"

Eventually, in the middle of the random tasks she was doing for Kirkwall, she had begun taking one-on-one outings and excursions with each of her friends. These days she still kept mostly to herself; but seeing their efforts to make her smile, knowing how much every one of them cared for her, and even the knowledge of just how much good she had been able to give them, it brought a genuine smile to her lips.

It felt so strange, smiling again. She rolled her head to the side and her eyes drifted around the room. If it weren't for Bodhan, Sandal, or Orana, whom she had come to adore, her house would surely have been a wreck. Judging by the 'unwashed' odor coming from her, it was safe to say that she and her estate would have just withered away into a stinky heap…

_'...'_

Her brows furrowed. And why was that a safe bet?

She sat up suddenly, the movement not at all jarring the slumbering mass of muscle beside her. Every time she ended up like this, she inevitably would blame herself for each and every shortcoming, each failed attempt to make things right. But who could say they would have tried harder? Done better in her place? …And now she was just sitting here, accepting this slow digression into decay as a fact now that… that was all she was?

"No."

With shaking legs she stood, wobbling slightly from a lack of use, but the steel in her eyes could kill from a hundred yards away. All her life she had dedicated herself to fighting for others, sacrificing herself at any costs to hold everyone else above her. She got her family out of Lothering, accepted the blame for Carver's death among so many other things, took the job at the Blooming Rose to save Bethany from a life of shame only to have it add to her own, and even accepted the blame once again when she lost her sister in the Deep Roads. She told herself back then, she _knew_ that she did it all out of love, out of _duty_, because it was the right thing to do. But when did she start to feel regret?

'…_Sebastian.'_

The young man who had quickly stolen her heart and just as quickly run off with it… It was after that, after she met her friends and began making a name for herself that she had grown cold and sarcastic. Working her way up through Lowtown had felt good because she didn't owe anybody anything; she just did as she pleased. Her family had always been her first and utmost priority, of course, but that didn't stop her from feeling entitled to everything she wanted. Her life had been hard, full of sacrifice, and that meant that the world owed her something. So when she saw him again, standing there in the Chantry, she secretly knew that she could innocently take from him, through teasing and temptation, what he had taken from her. Who'd have thought that after all that time apart she'd still come to lo-

"No." She shook her head and moved to her wardrobe.

She was tired of giving, tired of giving with the expectation of receiving. Losing the last person she'd sworn to protect… Losing her mother… She swallowed the sob that threatened to escape her throat and focused her red and blurry eyes as she pulled on her armor and tied back her hair. She knew why she'd lost direction; and it wasn't just because of her recent loss. She'd spent every day of her life living to protect her family, living for everyone else… but herself.

Equipping her daggers, she righted herself and stood in front of her mirror, drawing in a shaky breath. Uncle Gamlen was wrong. Mother's death was not her fault, nor was anyone else's. She'd tried, all her life, to do the very best she could. And if anyone wanted to tell her any different, they would meet her blades. …Well, seeing as Gamlen was the only family she had left, he could settle for meeting her fist, in between timely visits.

A smile finally found its way onto her face as she studied her reflection, not dolled up for a night of someone else's pleasure, not slouched and sniffling in lament of her faults and failures, but strong – proud to be a Hawke and ready to show the world what she was made of.

Bowing her head, she took a moment to count her blessings… Bethany was alive, somewhere, and fulfilling her own destiny. She still had friends, still had people worth fighting for. There was still a city full of people out there who needed someone, and she would answer – but not for them.

She would live her life for herself this time.

The need for action spurred something inside her, pulling her out of her trance and readying her for battle, to fight for peace and justice. When the knock at her door came, however, she couldn't have prepared herself for what was about to happen.

It was without warning that the door to the Hanged Man was practically thrown off its hinges as bands of Qunari fought their way up into Hightown. The sounds of screams and the pungeant stench of death and decay quickly filled the streets, and it had every one of them standing and alert. The only ones not present were Hawke, Aveline, and Isabella – who, in that moment, practically burst through the doorway of Varric's suite. Her usually cool and calculating amber eyes were wide with panic.

"Hawke is at the Keep. She's going to duel the Arishok."

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: _dundundun... xD _

_For the record, to all my reviewers: I love you guys. ^^ You really make my day._ Your honest, helpful feedback and positive reviews have truly made writing and updating an unparalleled delight! :)__


	11. Following the Qun

"Maker, that's a big sword…"

Hawke had little time to act when the mighty Qunari blade made a swing for her head. Ducking out of the way with no trouble at all, the nimble rogue sprinted to the left and rolled to stand behind the Arishok's towering body. With all the strength she could muster, she thrust one of her daggers forward, landing a successful backstab and causing the Qunari leader to roar with pain.

He whipped around, his piercing yellow eyes narrowing as he bent forward and lowered his massive horns. Andraste as her witness, she had tried to find peace, tried much harder than anyone else in this damned city to get either side to back down, to negotiate… She shouted in surprise when he charged her, moving faster than any man of that size should have been able to move. But luckily, her practiced dexterity granted her the speed and agility she needed to avoid his quick attacks and dodge his powerful blows.

Yes, she had tried, earning his respect, playing the peacekeeping delegate that everyone needed… Twirling her daggers once in both hands, she took a defensive stance and narrowed her eyes. But Kirkwall be damned, she was not letting them take Isabella. When the Qunari returned to Par Vollen, she decided, it would be on _her_ terms – with their relic, _without_ their thief, and now _without_ their Arishok.

He reared back, letting out a guttural yell and swinging his other hand above his head.

'_That's a big axe too…'_

Every pair of eyes in the Viscount's keep was now glued to the dueling pair, especially those belonging to Hawke's comrades. Each and every one of the by-standing nobles knew the name 'Hawke' well by now. They had heard of her ventures, had seen her rise and succeed, some of them having even hired her at one point or another. As they all looked on, however, between the Qunari general and the silver-tongued Ferelden, the question on everyone's minds was whether or not this was a foe the young duelist could best on her own.

A trademark smirk found its way onto Hawke's lips as she leapt through the air, landing behind the Arishok once again but this time making a sweep at his feet. He stumbled backwards, taking minor cuts to his legs but regaining his footing with little effort.

"Parshaara!" he bellowed.

Green eyes widened when he flashed in front of her. He was too quick this time. And Hawke was rendered helpless when his blade dug deep into her ribs and hoisted her in up into the air.

She could faintly discern the cries of her friends, could vaguely feel the blood trickling from the gaping hole in her side and splashing in quickened drops at the floor; but when her vision began to tunnel and her eyes grew hazy, she mustered up all the strength she could manage – being suspended by a sword – and spit a mouthful of defiant, coppery blood down into the Arishok's angry eyes.

Shaking his head wildly, he flung her from his sword, and her small body rolled several feet before slamming against a nearby pillar. Out of nowhere her mabari came rushing in, snarling as he leapt up onto the giant's chest and began biting at his neck. Hawke could barely feel anything in that moment, apart from the warm blood pooling at her side. Blinking the mist away from her eyes she shook her head, ignoring the growing throb of pain in her skull and moving to her knees while her senses returned to her.

'_I'm not that easy to take down…_' She quickly downed a health potion and tossed the empty flask aside. For the moment, it would work to dull the pain. Her eyes scanned the small perimeter of space they had been granted for their fight, noticing that the Arishok had also lost a decent amount of blood – not as much as she had, of course… but enough. His legs buckled beneath the weight of her war dog, and her brows furrowed as she stood and reached again into the satchel at her waist.

"Sten!" She called her mabari back to her, and her faithful companion responded immediately, pushing off his enemies' chest and running back to stand beside his master in battle. "Good dog," she smirked, eying the confused expressions of their Qunari spectators.

The Arishok lifted his weapons and whipped around to face her, gashes and cuts all over his body. Leaning forward, he moved to charge again; but as he took to a sprint, she moved at lightning speed, pulling out a combustion grenade and pitching it straight into his face. With all the strength she could manage, she dove out of the way in time for it to explode, sending shards and pieces of shrapnel into the Arishok before she sprang forward and brought her blades down upon him, one in his neck and the other straight into his heart.

All sound diminished as the Qunari giant blinked once and fell to his knees. With a sickening cough, he spat up a trickle of blood down his chin before turning his head to look Hawke straight in the eyes. She had seen this look before – when he had bestowed upon her the title of 'basalit-an' – and she met his eyes with a mixture of triumph and understanding.

His upper lip twitched into a snarl as his eyes began to close. "One day…" his ragged breathing slowed. "We shall return…"

The Qunari were truly a formidable and respectable foe. And she was not eager to be here when they came to honor that threat.

She withdrew her daggers and stood, the Arishok's body now lifeless and limp at her feet. Clutching the gaping wound in her side, she turned to address their 'audience' and met the eyes of the remaining Qunari soldiers. The one holding the Tome of Koslun simply inclined his head to her and gestured for the remaining warriors to follow. Time seemed to slowly catch up with her before Meredith and the templars suddenly burst through the Vigil's doors, scouting the perimeter and checking for any further signs of resistance before they all stopped. Every soul in Vigil's Keep was staring in awe when the Knight-Commander stepped forward to address their hero.

"Well done," her withered, yet stern voice sounded. "It appears Kirkwall has a new Champion."

* * *

><p>"Champion of Kirkwall," Varric chuckled. "A fine title."<p>

"A well-_deserved_ title," Aveline smiled, kneeling beside her friend. "Every noble in the Keep, everyone in Kirkwall owes you their lives."

"Wonderful," Hawke sighed, a tired smile on her face. "I love being the most important person in a city I hat-" She hissed in pain. "Maker's flaming _balls_ that hurts!"

Anders pulled his hands back, shaking his head. "Of course it hurts. You have a gaping hole in your side half-the-size of your torso."

"Yeah," Hawke stared up at the ceiling with a lazy grin. "But I won."

"Indeed you did," Isabella sat on the other side of the cot she was currently being treated on and leaned down to kiss the side of her cheek, an affectionate smile on the pirate's face. "And I don't know if I'll ever be able to thank you enough, for that."

Each one of her friends was with her in Anders' Darktown clinic, making sure she healed properly after that mess. As it was, they were all already worried enough over her recently without needing to consider the fact that she could have died.

"Was there ever any doubt?" Hawke asked no one in particular.

"None whatsoever," Fenris chuckled, the relief on his face visible for all to see.

"You're too strong to die, Hawke," Merrill smiled, peaking over the crowd of shoulders.

Hawke smiled at her friends, wincing when Anders poured a healing salve over the gash in her ribs. Her eyes passed over those of each of her friends, grateful to have met each and every one of them. When her eyes finally met the discernable shades of vibrant blue, however, her chest tightened.

"Your mother would have been proud, Hawke," he said with a smile that shone brightly in his eyes. "They all would have."

She pulled her gaze away when a mild blush rose to her cheeks, and she had to fight down the tears that threatened to well up. Why did he always know exactly what to say to her? Swallowing her feelings, she breathed a heavy sigh, hissing at the pressure caused by the swell in her lungs. Perhaps it was best to try and find some sleep.

* * *

><p>And the days pressed on, but not once did she waiver. Not in the midst of the growing strain between templars and mages and not between the hundreds of letters she was receiving, whether for praise or for favor. Hawke was a busy girl; but more importantly, she was back to her old self. And that seemed enough to put a smile on everyone's faces – including her own.<p>

"Life has been strange." Her eyes passed over the inner walls of her estate, stopping on her mother's door for a moment before she pulled them away. She held her chin high these days, strong in both body and spirit, having grown to truly accept who she was. Life had been good, and duty pressed her forward. "But I wouldn't change a thing about it…"

"All the glorious dirt and grime," Varric chuckled. "And we're up for another night of cleaning the streets?"

"A courtesy to humor Meredith," she sighed. A thoughtful smile found its way onto her face. "It's a grueling task, but someone has to do it..."

Who knows what other ridiculous trials she'd have to face in the coming days…

* * *

><p>"Wow. Are you… are you a mage? Because I think you just <em>magicked<em> my breath away."

The look on Hawke's face was somewhere between disbelief and pity. Why, _why_ in Andraste's name was it so easy to find insane people in Kirkwall? …Maybe it was just the Hanged Man, in particular. She could see the look on Meredith's face now, if he had been drunk enough to try that line on her…

"…You obviously need more practice with women."

"Can I practice on _you_?" he giggled suggestively. "…in _private_?"

"Can I kill him yet?" Varric mumbled. "He's hurting me."

"Somehow…I imagined it'd be more difficult to track down a blood mage," Sebastian muttered with a shake of his head.

"A round of drinks on me!" the redheaded mage exclaimed. "I'm Emile, as you know, and you are…"

"…Feeling very sorry for you," Hawke sighed. "I'm also helping the templars hunt down a blood mage named 'Emile de Launcet,' and here you are."

"Ah, buggary…" He stood quickly, shaking his hands. "I…I know what this is about, I… I-I'm not a blood mage, all right? I, eh, started that rumor because… because I thought it would make me sound dangerous and…eh… suave…"

"It would take more than blood magic for that," Sebastian chuckled.

Hawke turned her head to the side in an attempt to hide her smile. Something about Sebastian had…changed recently. He seemed more carefree… less weighed down by the burdens that seemed to have haunted him for so long. _'I hope he found what he was looking for,'_ she thought with a wistful smile.

"I've…only told people in the tavern," Emile continued, his voice a bit quieter.

'_Ah, right. Back to this poor fool.'_

"A-And only women! You don't understand," he shook his head miserably, "I've been in the circle since I was six. _Six_! For twenty years I was locked up… I never had a real drink or… cooked something for myself… Never stood in the rain or kissed a girl!" His eyes fell to the floor. "…I just wanted to live a little. I-If you're going to kill me, do it now. I'd rather die drunk."

Maker, this was sad.

"Emile wants to live a little…" Hawke turned a playful eye over her shoulder. "Why don't you give him a hand, Isabella?"

Her fellow duelist's eyes grew wide. "You don't mean… No," She looked back at the 'blood mage' and shook her head. "_No_! He's revolting! I do just fine whoring myself out _without_ your help, thanks."

"Well, I tried" Hawke laughed, ignoring the death glare she felt at her back. Her gaze grew a bit more sympathetic though. "…Did you _really_ escape the circle just so you could 'kiss a girl'?"

The dazed, nervous man shook his head. "Well… n-not just that. I've heard so much about the other things you can do with girls… I just…don't want to die a virgin."

Varric turned his disbelieving eyes on Hawke, his trigger hand twitching at his side. "…Please?"

Emile exhaled loudly. "I'll make you a deal, all right? Give me one night. Just…one night." He inclined his head over towards the bar. "One of the tavern girls, Nella, agreed to lie with me. I-I even paid for a room! Please… Let me have this. Y-you can take me back in chains after!"

Hawke shook her head with a smile. "Why don't you start small and leave the 'chains' for when you're more experienced?"

"…Huh?"

His clueless expression was almost physically painful.

"Just…go… do whatever."

They waited at one of the tables nearby while 'Nella' came over and lead Emile to one of the back rooms. And the four rogues were almost too embarrassed to talk about what was happening, it was so unbelievable.

"He sounded a bit like Aveline, didn't he?" Isabella chuckled. "When she was stupid over Donnic."

Hawke could not suppress her laughter at that point. They waited for less than half-an-hour before Emile showed up, walking down the small flight of stairs with a goofy grin plastered on his face.

"…Well?" she asked with a raised brow.

"What. I'm not going to tell _you_ about it." He straightened his clothes and let out a contented sigh. "That was utterly worth it. Okay. Back to the templars."

Hawke simply smiled, happy to have helped another poor soul in Kirkwall – even if it was just to lose his virginity before giving him back to Meredith.

* * *

><p>Maker was it difficult, appeasing both sides... Especially when the tension between mages and templars only seemed to heighten. It had grown obvious that Hawke was a mage-sympathizer, through and through. Having Bethany as a sister had much to do with it, Sebastian was sure; but at times it was more than apparent when she or another member of their party disagreed on the issue. It was a controversial argument in Kirkwall – and one constant battle between Meredith and Orsino – but it was a topic that the majority of their party tried to avoid. There was enough unrest all around them as it was without adding to that drama by throwing their own opinions around.<p>

Now when it came to Anders, Fenris, or himself even, it was easy to see where their beliefs lie. What was difficult was keeping it all in when they were constantly forced to be around one another so often. Especially when certain members of their group came off as more…aggressive than others.

Sebastian sat with a scowl on his face, along with Fenris and Isabella, on the steps leading to Ander's clinic in Darktown. The three of them waited while Hawke had stepped inside to speak with the mage at his behest. These days it was difficult to control his…distaste for the 'revolutionary' apostate. He silently prayed for patience and decided to pass some of the time in positive conversation.

"You know, when I return to Starkhaven, you're welcome to come with me, Fenris,"

Fenris peaked at him from his spot leaning against the wall. "So you've decided to go back, have you?"

"Yes, I believe I have."

The admission felt good. Realizing his love for Hawke had done many things to him, including giving him priorities he previously lacked. It seemed that all her words and wisdom had suddenly reverberated into one clear, coherent thought, and Sebastian knew that taking back his lands, reclaiming his throne, was the right thing to do. And for once in his life, he felt like he was doing something good – not just for himself; and life had never been so vibrant and full of promise. All that remained, however, was finding the right way to tell her… All he needed now was time and patience.

"And what would I do in Starkhaven, exactly?" Fenris entertained the thought with a smirk.

"You're a fine warrior," Sebastian smiled. "If you could train men to fight like you do, we'd be unstoppable."

"I'm no leader," his dull voice reasoned, "and I doubt humans would want me training them."

"Then why not train elves? I bet there's plenty who would admire all you've accomplished."

Fenris grew silent for a moment, his face growing flushed. "I…haven't accomplished anything."

"No?" Sebastian grinned. "You are your own man, living as you see fit – you give yourself too little credit."

"You are being kind," Fenris bowed his head. "But…I will think on your offer."

"He's right to pay you compliment." Isabella sauntered over to him and ran a hand over his shoulder. "You perform amazingly well – in _all_ departments," she snickered when Fenris shook his head.

Sebastian turned an amused eye towards Isabella. "I used to be like you, you know."

"You used to be a woman?"

"No!" he waved his hands in the air when they both laughed.

"That explains a lot," she teased.

"Maker," he sighed with a chuckle. "Before I came to the Chantry, I used to be out to all hours, drinking and whoring. I didn't believe in anything except my own pleasure."

The pirate feigned a dramatic sigh. "Why couldn't I have met you _then_?"

"Hawke did…" His smile faded and his voice grew distant. "I met her right before I was sent away. That week… Meeting her… It was the best time of my entire life, and I threw it all away out of anger and stubbornness…"

"She used to talk about you, you know," Isabella stretched and looked out at the water. "I met her back then as well. Varric too. She was quite a mess after you left, apparently."

He shook his head and tried to ignore all the shame he felt within. "If only I knew back then… I've done a lot of stupid things," he admitted, "But of all the things I wish I could take back… I would treat her the way she deserved, every day. I would give anything to see her happy."

"It's never too late to change, to start over…" Fenris added. "Hawke was trying to teach me that. I owe her much as well."

"You're a good man," Isabella nodded. "Stupid, like most, but better than a lot of them too." Her face grew serious as she peaked a sad eye over her shoulder. "Maker knows 'blondie's' been trying his best to win her over for years now," she sighed. "But he's already a mess as it is. Hawke doesn't need someone else to take care of. She needs someone who can take care of _her_."

Sebastian stood to stare out at the water, the pirate's words calling a determination in him that had been growing over the months. He made a decision then, a new promise, that he would make up for lost time. There was no point in wallowing any longer. …He had to admit though, it felt good, just talking about his life with others – with his friends – and not carrying the worries he used to. Again…he had Hawke to thank for that. _'In what ways _didn't_ she make his life better_,' he thought with a smile.

"I-" Isabella turned around suddenly as the door above them flew open. "What in blazes are they shouting about?"

"You can't ask that of me," Hawke's voice sounded a combination of tired and irritated as she attempted to walk away. "I may not be the Chantry's biggest fan, but you're going too far this time. I can't keep trusting blindly in all these secrets!"

"I told you there'd be risks," the mage pleaded. "I thought I could count on you…"

Anders made a grab for her arm and Sebastian moved instantly to stand between the two of them. Maybe it was the hidden possessiveness that had urged him, or perhaps it was merely the instinct to protect her, but something inside him was _itching_ to beat the life out of this man.

"Is there a problem?" His voice was calm but his gaze was ominous and clear in its intent as he stared down the apostate.

"Sebastian," Hawke's tired voice pleaded from behind. "Stop. There's nothing wrong."

"Is that true?" He faced Anders fully now, but the mage did not falter.

"Everything's fine. Go back to your Chantry and that spineless old biddy of a Grand Cleric."

"You're crossing dangerous lines, apostate." Sebastian stepped forward, but Fenris put a hand on his shoulder to calm him.

"He's not worth it." Fenris' own words seemed to surprise him, but the look on Hawke's face spurred him into being the peacekeeper for once. "If it were up to me, we'd leave him to the templars, but let us leave and be done with this."

Isabella sent death glares at the mage. "You'd better get control of yourself fast, because if you ever threaten her again, or lay a _single_ magical finger on her I swear to you I will tie you up, cut off your balls and starve you until you beg me to feed them to you."

And with that, she put a hand on Hawke's shoulder and led her away from the glowering mage.

"Come on," Fenris pulled lightly on Sebastian's shoulder.

Sebastian kept his eyes on Anders. "If Isabella is ever right, you'll be _wishing_ she'd gotten to you first."

Sending him one last glare, he slowly turned to follow his friends.

Anders' attitude towards Hawke's unwillingness to participate – in Maker-knows what – was reason enough for people to question just what the apostate was up to when no one was looking. Over time he had grown much more reclusive, asking favors of Hawke and other mage-sympathizers whenever he could. Only recently did she seem unwilling to aid a mage-in-need, and apparently it set him off. On top of everything else, it did not bode well for the others.

Hawke sighed, before they exited Darktown. "You guys go on ahead." She turned to offer a sympathetic smile. "I'll see you at the Hanged Man later."

Isabella glanced between Hawke and Sebastian before smirking and winking at her friend. "All right," she grinned, turning to Fenris. "I'm sure we'll find _some_ way to pass the time…"

Fenris turned to hide his blush, but Sebastian caught sight of his returned smirk and couldn't help but chuckle as the odd pair found their way out of Darktown with their fingers entwined. The sight was quite…sweet.

"Sebastian," Hawke's voice quickly pulled him from his thoughts and he turned to face her. "Listen-"

"Are you busy tomorrow?" He asked suddenly.

She opened and closed her mouth as she met his eyes, pausing a moment before offering him a simple "no."

He studied her briefly, fully aware of the anxiety settling in his abdomen, and he began to wonder how far the two of them had drifted apart in all this madness… Blinking back any lingering doubts or newfound insecurities, he cleared his throat. "I think we should talk."

Her gaze held his for a moment longer, searching his eyes before she sighed and nodded in agreement. And without another word, the two of them turned and left the miserable decay of the under-city.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** _The duel with the Arishok was just too awesome in-game, so I had a lot of fun re-creating it in this chapter. ^^ And I apologize for all the cliff-hangers, but it's safe to say that the climax is drawing near! _

_And just what will our hero and heroine be 'discussing' in the next chapter?  
>Heheh…<em>


	12. Faith

When he left the Chantry the sun was high in the sky, hidden – for the moment – behind a veil of spotted clouds. It was a beautiful day, the much needed sunlight bringing warmth to Kirkwall's weary corners. No need for a cloak. ...No excuses of foul weather today. Sebastian Vael moved with purposeful strides in his short trek across Hightown, his chin held high but his palms damp with anticipation. This could wait no longer. There was much to be done, now that the Prince of Starkhaven had decided to take back his throne, but _this_ needed to come first. He lifted his gaze to find himself already nearing Hawke's estate, and when a brisk wind blew through the vacant streets around him, he gave pause. The moment of hesitation nearly undid him, giving his mind all the time it needed to begin tearing away at that wall of confidence he had built before leaving. A sudden weight on his shoulders kept his feet planted firmly outside of her door as he anxiously ran his hands through his hair, inhaling and exhaling deeply when his heart began to race.

Nine years. It was difficult to believe so much time had passed since he first saw her descending those stairs... Yet even harder to grasp was all his inaction. For nine years now this girl has teased him, tested him, and all but torn apart his sanity; but in truth, he knew that Hawke had only ever wanted the same thing that he did... and it was his own damn fault he never did anything about it. And now... What if he'd lost his chance? If he had done this right all along, who knows where they might have been? She could have been waiting for him under different circumstances… waiting for him to come home to her…

No more waiting. No more running, and no more hiding. Maker knows those tactics never got him any answers before. In one swift motion, Sebastian opened her door and stepped inside.

The interior hadn't changed much since he broke in… and the thought was beyond shameful. But before he could dwell any further on his own shortcomings, he was surprised to find that he was not immediately greeted by Hawke's – rather terrifying – mabari. Instead the royal archer smiled when he found the furry beast sprawled on his back, asleep by the fireplace. As gently and quietly as he could, he knelt at the edge of the foyer to set aside his bow and arrows. Perhaps the war dog felt no threat by the scent of a familiar presence, he shrugged. …Was it wrong to have let himself in like that?

Sebastian's blue eyes wandered around the elegantly decorated estate, impressed by much of the detail that had been hidden from view when he had only a single candle to light his previous visit. The main room on the lower floor was immaculate, adorned with rare oddities and trinkets they had acquired in their travels. He looked to his left and noticed the bag of wares and the trunk of enchanting tools belonging to Bodhan and his boy, Sandal. It was then, he noted with a raised brow, that neither the dwarves nor Orana were anywhere to be found. Surely it was not so early in the day that he had come when they were all still asleep?

He observed, with one final glance around the mansion, that Hawke's house had a very _cozy_ feel to it. It was warm, inviting… Inhaling deeply, he closed his eyes and breathed it in – that familiar and mind numbing scent that was uniquely hers... Sweet spices...and honey… like a warm day in autumn… Sebastian swayed slightly. Her room at the Blooming Rose had smelled similar. Beneath all the rich perfumes and incense that hung in the air of that awful place, there was a scent there that was…only her. And she, herself, had been like a treasure – a rare gem hidden away from the world, in the last place anyone would have thought to look… His eyes traveled up the flight of stairs and rested on the door he knew was hers, willing his tentative feet forward and moving in a state that was somewhere between dazed and dreaming.

His heart was beating fast now, his senses reeling from an onslaught of memory after memory. Every thought of her brought with it a sickly and sweet burning, feelings branded in him like fire upon his flesh. Conversations played over and over again in his mind – some recent, some from a lifetime ago. Visions and images faded in and out – some real, some invented by his torturous subconscious – all recollections of experiences with _her_… Inside and out, in every way possible, she was still perfect in his eyes; and he would not leave here today until she knew it. With footsteps as light as his breathing, he stopped outside her door when he found it slightly ajar.

It was wrong to intrude like this. True, he _had_ been invited, but no one knew he was here yet, and she could be all sorts of indecent or ill-prepared... His blood froze when the soft sound of her sigh reached his ears, every ounce of air escaping his lungs when it was followed by the splashing of water. Before he could stop himself, he had moved the door open to peer inside.

Maker's breath... She was bathing.

Amidst the steamy vapors rising from the water in her tub, he could see her – her glistening body slick and wet as she ran a soft sponge over her shoulders and arms. Facing away from him she leaned forward, causing some of the bathwater to splash around her. Her long dark hair was pulled up into a messy bun, bits of loose, wet strands clinging to her face and neck. Sebastian drew in a shuddering breath, watching as she arched her back in order to reach around and wash every inch of her beautiful skin… Never in his miserable life had he seen such a breathtaking sight.

Whether from the heat in the room or the rising heat to his face he began to feel dizzy, leaning forward to brace himself against the wooden doorframe in a white-knuckle grip. Willing his eyes shut, he hung his head and clenched his teeth, feeling himself strain against the confines of his armor. His skin was on fire, his fingertips aching to reach out and touch her, help her reach all the places that she could not… In his minds eye he could see her, her eyes dark and full of desire as she lay beneath him, coaxing him… wanting him…

A strangled cry escaped his parted lips as he pulled his eyes open but kept his gaze on the floor. He had seen her naked before. For Andraste's sake, they had _slept_ together before… But it was only once… and it was so long ago…

_"Wait…"_

_He opened his eyes and looked down at her, her cheeks flushed and her hair tousled from their exertions. Alight with a newfound uncertainty and fear, her emerald eyes pierced his soul and begged to him, an unspoken wish. Their labored breathing and slick bodies were mere details, all fading away in the distance. Looking into her eyes, Sebastian almost forgot how to breathe._

_"…Be gentle," she whispered._

But he had rushed it. He had taken it all for granted because it was the only time they were _supposed_ to have been together. He had no idea, back then, the role she would come to play. He would never in a million years have guessed that the petite beauty from the Blooming Rose, who captured his attention all those years ago, would be the one to avenge his family, make such an impact in his life, or become the closest fried he'd ever had. Or perhaps… Maybe that was what scared him so much, that night he left her. He realized then how quickly he'd come to care for her... And here she was again, the only person who truly knew him, understood his past, looked past his flaws to help him with his present, and believed in him enough to fight for his future. Here, now, in that moment, he could not see their struggles, could no longer feel the effects of the damage they may have inflicted on one another… All he could see, through the mist and candlelight, was her… Just her.

Another soft sound reached his ears and he shook his head in an attempt to lift the fog over his mind, realizing that this time it was a gasp. Peaking down at his feet, which had unknowingly betrayed him during his poorly timed daydream, he found himself standing fully inside of her room.

"Maker's _breath_, Sebastian!" she huffed, standing quickly from the water and wrapping a towel around her exposed body to cover herself up.

Still lost in a daze, he swallowed thickly, fingers twitching, when he'd caught a good eyeful of her round backside.

"Surely you haven't forgotten how to _knock_!"

Stepping out of the tub, Hawke strode to the side of her bed, face flush and eyes averted. When he did not respond, she peaked up at him from beneath her dark lashes, her green eyes bright with a storm of emotions before she tore her gaze away again.

"I…" '_Say something. Anything…'_ "You… wanted to talk to me?" Smooth. Just ignore that you were caught watching her bathe.

She sighed, pulling her hair free from the twisted knot and letting it cascade down her bare shoulders and back. The sight was entrancing.

"At least let me get dressed," she muttered angrily. "And _shut_ the door."

He cleared his throat and obliged without hesitation. Yet, ever the fool, it was without thinking that he turned around and shut the door – with him still inside.

Her exasperated sigh faded in the brief moment of awkward silence that stretched between them. All that could be heard were the sounds of shuffling clothing, the soft scraping of metal, and the snaps of fastened leather before she announced, rather suddenly, "I… wanted to talk to you about what happened in Darktown, with Anders."

"…You wanted to discuss the _apostate_?" The choice of topic was unexpected, to say the least, and Sebastian raised an incredulous brow he knew she could not see.

She met his tone defiantly. "_Anders_ is a good man, despite what you think."

"The man's a lunatic, Hawke!" he shouted over his shoulder. "The only thing he cares about is freeing maleficarum and spreading panic and chaos." He didn't know why, but every nerve in him twitched to find the man and beat the life out of him. There were so many more important things the two of them should have been discussing.

"He saved Bethany from the Deep Roads!" she reminded him, her footsteps approaching him from behind. "And he's been a good friend to me. Neither you nor I are mages, so we can't exactly speak of their plight like we know what's going on…"

He turned around to find her wearing the Champions Armor that had been commissioned for her after the Qunari battle, daggers equipped at her back. With her hair pulled back into a high ponytail, she was adorned head to toe in red, black, and brown and covered in leather straps. As always, she looked stunning.

She crossed her arms and pinned him with a glare. "He's just fighting for what he believes in."

"No matter the cost. He's _dangerous_, Hawke," he pleaded, hoping she would see reason.

"He's no more of a danger than my sister was! I get that your views mirror the Chantry's, that all magic is a _sin_ meant to be purged and cleansed."

"You know that's not true." He stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. "Mage or not, I hold no such prejudices and cast judgment only on choice and character. You _know_ me better than that."

"I'll tell you what I _do_ know…" She approached him again to jab a finger at his armored chest. "I know that you're just as stubborn, pig-headed, and _infuriating_ to argue with as the day I-"

But his lips were on hers before she could finish.

The bridge was crossed, and there was no going back.

Her eyes widened, her verbal resistance muffled by his lips pushing gently against hers.

With all the self-control he could muster, he slowly pulled back to meet her gaze, finding anger giving way to confusion, which slowly melted into pain and…something else. Beyond that broken threshold was something more, an unspoken wish hidden away within those beautiful emerald depths – a feeling he knew that they both shared. He opened his mouth to offer her words that needed saying, but found himself drowning in her taste again before he could speak.

She gripped his hair painfully as she parted her lips, giving him all the invitation he needed to claim her tongue with his own. Inhaling deeply, he breathed in her mind-numbing scent as he crushed her to his body, hands wandering over her face, neck and back as she pressed herself against him. Without warning, her two hands on his chest pushed him back; and he looked up to find a furrowed brow battling reason with her heated gaze.

He took a step backward when she marched up to him, mindful of the door at his back. Her eyes were ablaze and indiscernible. "…What's gotten into you?" she half-shouted, her voice breathless as she shoved him into her door, his armor smacking against it with a loud thud. "Are you _trying_ to confuse me?" Her hands gripped his chest piece and pulled him to her, crushing her lips against his once again. He muttered a "No" in response to her question, but words seemed lost to both their ears.

Like a starved man he grabbed the sides of her face and held her to him, tilting his head and satisfying his thirst until air became a necessity. She moaned softly into his lips, her fingernails digging into the skin at his neck. The sensation alone brought chills up and down his spine, and he turned them around and pressed his body against her, pinning her lithe frame against the door and hoisting her up as a hand ran through her dark hair and pulled it free from its binding. Using his teeth, he sucked and nibbled on her lower lip, and she eagerly complied with his ministrations, wrapping her legs around his waist. Only now were they becoming vaguely aware that they were both wearing too much armor, but the awareness was doing little to stave off the intensity and the heat growing between them.

"Your vows are terribly convenient," she hissed, grabbing his head when he began kissing her neck.

Grabbing hold of her, he leaned his head against her chest and closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath and find some fragment of self-control. "It's not like that," he tried to explain, pulling back to gently set her down. Their faces were flushed, lips swollen, and yet beneath the returning awareness the fire between them was far from extinguished.

"Then what _is_ it like?" she asked, stepping away on shaken legs to avoid his gaze and stare out the small opening in her curtains. "I'm not a _whore_ anymore. I haven't been for awhile."

"I made no such insinuation…" He reached for her shoulder but she shrugged his hand away violently.

"Then stop playing with me!" She faced him with fire in her eyes, her hands balling into fists at her sides. "It was hard to forget you, Sebastian. You broke my heart when you left, and you broke it again when I found you but couldn't have you!" Her eyes shimmered with fresh tears. "I've tried hard to respect your vows, to stay friends, just like you wanted, but-"

"I never wanted it," he told her simply, taking a bold step forward.

His answer seemed to derail her. "…What? Don't give me that. We both know-"

"_Please_ Hawke. Just… hear me out."

She pouted, taking up a defensive stance as he approached her, brows furrowed and eyes distrusting. So guarded… And the knowledge that _he_ was the cause of it made his heart wrench painfully inside his chest. He knew this wouldn't be easy. Where they'd been had left both of them burned, had built up a wall of anger and bitterness… He knew it would be hard for her, seeing past it and letting it all go, but somebody needed to back down. He would be the person they both needed him to be. He would not turn from her now. Not ever again.

Her green eyes were searching his when he closed the last bit of distance between them. Squeezing her arms lightly, he dipped his head down slowly and gently touched his lips to her soft cheek – a fond gesture and a memory – and he hoped with every fiber of his being that she would feel it. He then reached for her hand and lifted her knuckles beneath his lips, planting another familiar kiss upon her heated skin. She did not pull away, and no words fell from her parted lips. Instead, her intense gaze told him all of her fears, spoke softly all of her hopes.

"Words themselves could never express my regret, my grief for my mistakes, or my most humble apologies." His eyes met hers, offering her the same measure of honesty she had always granted him. "But I've been waiting, too long..."

"For what?" she asked suddenly, almost jumping at the sound of her own voice.

As gentle as he could be, he brought his hand up to cup her face as he held her gaze. "To make up for lost time." The pad of his thumb gently stroked the side of her cheek. "To help you fight your battles, so that you never have to be alone again."

"Sebastian…" Her voice was breathless, barely above a whisper. "…What are you saying?"

He smiled softly as he stared into her eyes. "I'm saying that I'm a fool, spent of my life of defiance – that I'm sorry it took ending up here to say what needed saying all along…" With a feather-light touch, he brushed a loose strand of hair from her face. "Since the moment I first met you," he grinned, "feisty, flustered, and nerve-wrecked, you found a way into my head and an even quicker way into my heart."

Eyes softening, she leaned into his touch, and his heart soared. "A sentiment I too shared… with the curious, charming, and _smug_ son of a mysterious, wealthy family." The light smile that had made its way onto her face began to fade as she looked up at him in earnest. "What about the Chantry? What changed? You say you never wanted us to only be…friends, yet you never put up a fight before when I first suggested it."

He looked thoughtful a moment. "Do you remember the conversation we had, the night you returned from the Deep Roads?"

She nodded slowly. "…Briefly."

"You asked me why I never sought you out all that time, knowing you'd been in Kirkwall. And I told you that I didn't know whether to blame fear, stubbornness, or immaturity," he shook his head. "But I regretted it, nonetheless. And I don't intend to let my fear or my indecision let another chance of happiness slip away from me again."

When she did not respond, he put a gentle knuckle beneath her chin to pull her gaze back to his.

"Would you hear my confession?" Sebastian's voice was light, and she could not help but smirk at his play-on-words.

"I hardly think I have the credentials for that," she joked, a light blush growing on her cheeks.

"It was difficult, at first, deciding what I wanted." He smiled down at her when she peaked up at him from beneath her dark lashes. "But I've had a lot of time to think about it – far too much time – but I know now what it is. In fact…I've known for quite some time."

She seemed afraid to ask, but found her voice. "…And what is that?"

"You," he breathed, taking both her hands in his. "Mara Hawke, I love you." Her mouth fell open as a small gasp passed between her lips, her eyes glistening in the firelight and drawing him in. "I won't spend another day wishing or regretting. No more restless nights or empty mornings, and no more fleeting moments to suffice for our encounters." He gave her hands a gentle squeeze. "I refuse to live a life without you by my side."

It was difficult to tell, then, whether or not he was still standing. This daze felt more like a waking dream now. He barely registered from the hand now resting on her shoulder that she was trembling. Closing her eyes briefly, she drew in a shaky breath. And a small smile graced her beautiful lips. "Your vows… I… Are you saying-"

"Princes are not meant for chastity," he grinned. "And when I return to Starkhaven, I'd prefer it be with my future bride. Will you-"

But her lips were on his before he could finish.

Inhaling deeply, she pulled back and smiled. "Admitting to be a fool didn't hurt your case much," she chuckled softly.

"Is that a yes?" he grinned, holding her close as his gaze fell to her lips.

"Yes." She met his eyes, her gaze darkening. "But… you _really_ have a lot of time to make up for…"

The look in her eyes sent a white-hot sensation coursing through his veins, waves of goose bumps rising over his skin. It was like being consumed in fire and electricity all at once. Years of isolation and pent up feelings seemed to burst from their seams, and a deep chuckle sounded in his throat.

"Trust me, sweetling," She squeaked in surprise when he drew her even closer to him, sliding his hand behind her neck. "I intend to do."

Running the pad of his thumb along her lower lip this time, he smirked, causing a terrifying and exhilarating chill to run down her spine. It was a familiar look, a hungry gaze she had seen, once upon a time. Only this time, Hawke smiled, there was something more, something stronger and deeper hidden within the darkening depths of his beautiful blue eyes.

Only _he_ had ever done this to her, only her foreign admirer, her blushing Chantry brother, and her charming prince. His name fell from her lips in a whisper, "Sebastian…"

With a controlled tenderness in his intense grip, he tilted her head to the side and dipped his head down to capture her lips. All else forgotten, she succumbed to his offer and without hesitation parted her lips, ever so slightly. It was all that he needed to claim her tongue with his own, warm and inviting as she sighed into him and threw her arms over his neck. He responded immediately, running his fingers through her soft hair and tugging lightly to pull her in and drown in her sweet taste and her soft whimpers, holding desperately to a memory – and now, a moment – that neither wanted to ever let go of.

Hawke barely had time to register what was happening when his warm hands covered her own and he broke the kiss, the searing gaze of his unabashed longing causing her legs to weaken and pools of warmth to spread throughout her body when he pulled her with him. Not once did he break eye contact until he had her pressed against the edge of her mattress, shaking his head as he surveyed her clothing.

"You, my love, are wearing far too much for my tastes…"

One of his hands slid underneath her thigh as he pushed her back, admiring the smooth texture of the leather on her pants before giving her round bottom a desperate squeeze. The other, previously entangled in her chestnut-colored locks, slowly massaged its way down her neck and shoulder, square-tipped fingers sliding along her collarbone and stopping at the fabric of her chest piece.

"Believe me," she breathed, "If I'd have known _this_ is why you were coming over, I'd have simply stayed in the bath…" She reached one of her legs up and rubbed it along his inner thigh, earning a low moan that inwardly bolstered her actions. "Besides," she grinned wickedly as she sat up in front of him. "I've spent many nights alone, _dreaming_ of relieving you of this armor…" Her delicate fingers ran beneath his belt. "Why spoil the fun?"

His voice was low, his brogue thick. "Then by all means…" He stepped back to give her the space she needed, raising his arms in surrender. "This night is yours. As am I. I owe you that much, I think."

She stood slowly, meeting the heat of his smoldering gaze and matching it with her own. "That and so much more…"

Like a lion stalking its prey, she circled him once, spurred by that trademark smirk of his. She had longed to see it, every time she teased him, innocently tormented him… She'd wanted to see that look he had given freely to her, all those years ago – the one that spoke darkly to her, promised an endless night of pleasure, putting her imagination to shame and fulfilling her _deepest_ innermost desires…

His lips parted as he watched her, his blue eyes entranced by her graceful movements as she reached for the straps on his shoulders. "Enjoy your games while you can, love," he whispered. "For my unspoken desires will beget more than tender caresses and playful banter, I promise you that."

His words were like fire, kindling the burning she already felt within and she fought hard to keep control of herself, forcing down the building rush of need and biting her lower lip as she met his eyes again. With steady hands, she slid her fingertips along his chest plate. "If only I'd known…" she purred, "Your secrets would have been safe with me." She leaned up to run the tip of her tongue along the shell of his ear as she began freeing his left shoulder of its armor. "I'd have pushed you just a little further…" Her delicate fingers slid against his belt buckle.

He swallowed thickly, his hands clenched tight at his side when she knelt before him and slowly reached her fingers around each of his legs and removed the metal protecting his knees and shins. She looked up from beneath him, illuminated by the light of her fireplace and innocently batting her lashes while her hands unclasped his belt.

"I assure you I am paying the price for my negligence," he groaned. "Were it not for my willpower I'd have you undone," He breathed deeply as he watched her. "But I am a man of my word, and this game is yours to play."

"Is it now?" She grinned wickedly. "Well I wouldn't be me if I didn't put such _willpower_ to the test…"

Sebastian's eyes followed her every move, gently setting aside his white armor plating before she stood and moved to the buckles of his chainmail coat.

"I heard similar claims of prowess from a brazen young man I knew, many years ago," she teased. "But never from the pious Chantry brother before me."

"If only you knew…" His remaining armor fell to the wooden floor with a thud. "The sinful thoughts of my prayers and confessions…" He gripped her arms suddenly and spun her around so that her back was flush against him, his evident arousal pressed against her from beneath his clothing.

"Sebastian," she hissed, grinding her hips against him and running a hand through his hair to grip at his neck. She tossed her head to the side when his mouth found the crook of her neck, his tongue working tricks he apparently had not forgotten. His hands began their quick work of unbuckling and discarding every strap of leather and metal adorning her and leaving it all in discarded piles amongst his own armor.

"Cruel temptress," he growled, nipping lightly just below her throat. Using both hands, he roughly yanked free her entire top, turning her back around to face him and exposing long-forgotten flesh to his hungry eyes. "You have no idea what you've done to me," his words were low and sensual as he brought them back to the edge of her mattress, "What you still _do_ to me…" His warm breath fanned out across her breasts, generously rising and falling with every gasp of air. He pulled back to admire her toned, golden skin, so radiant in the firelight of her darkened room, her face clearly flushed as her eyes followed his exploring hands.

Worrying her lower lip between her teeth she studied him, watched his hands and eyes wander all over her body, half-exposed to the chilling air. She slid her tongue across her bottom lip as she reached bold and practiced hands out to pull his tunic over his head and slide her fingertips along his chiseled muscles, wanting to re-learn every inch of him. She watched his eyes darken when her fingers stopped along his waistline and slowly circled around his back before sliding up and hooking inside his doeskin trews and pulling him forward. Offering him a coy smile, she locked her green eyes with his blue ones and leaned up to capture his lips in a soft caress, grinding against him and drawing him in further.

"Why didn't we do this more often?" she whispered in between rough kisses. Gripping his hair tightly, her legs surrendered beneath her and she brought him down with her to the mattress.

"A mistake I intend to make up for," he breathed huskily, crushing his lips to hers, "Every night…" Meeting her lips with all the force of his need, he pressed himself further against her. "Every morning…" Looking down at her, he pulled back slightly to peel away the rest of her clothes. "I will show you pleasure you could never begin to imagine."

His mouth explored her naked chest and she buried her right hand in his auburn hair, bucking hard against him and bringing her other hand to her mouth to bite lightly on the skin of her knuckle. She could not think, could not reason... All was lost to her when she felt his soft lips meet the heat of her skin.

"Don't hold back," he commanded, grabbing both of her hands and pinning them above her head. "No one is here." His tongue circled her flesh once before flicking across her hardened nipple. "I want to hear every sound that passes through your lips." Holding her wrists in one hand with little effort, he slid his other hand down to cup her soft breast while he took the other in his mouth. His square-tipped fingers splayed over her chest and gripped her ribcage before slowly sliding down beneath her pants and underclothes.

He leaned forward, bracing himself on his one elbow and pinning her lithe body beneath his, the heat of their skin meeting and sending them both further into oblivion. In wild abandon he bit down at the juncture of her neck, sliding his fingers between her legs without warning and shoving them inside her. Her cries of pleasure only spurred his actions, and he added a third finger while his thumb found her swollen pearl. "I want to hear you beg my name," his deep brogue whispered. "Tell me what you want me to do," he ground his hips roughly against her so that she could feel his need.

"Sebastian," she breathed, her voice light and her breaths coming in desperate pants when his hand quickened its pace. She arched her back, pushing into him further, knowing she was nearing her peak. When she did not respond, however, his actions slowed and she opened her eyes to find that smug, knowing grin on his face.

She knew he wanted her to submit. Her body was trembling, but her mind fought madly against it. Control was something they both sought here. And she had pride to match his own.

Smiling devilishly, she leaned up and pressed her fingertips against his pectoral muscle, feeling his erratic heartbeat within. She slid free of his hold and, with practiced dexterity, flipped around so that he was beneath her, propped on his elbows while she slid silently off the bed.

His eyes were fixed on her as she carefully removed his boots and his pants, leaving him in nothing but his smallclothes. Slowly, she stood and stretched, leaving much for his hungry eyes to view as she spun around and locked gazes with him from over her shoulder. Twisting her hands around the edges of her pants, she never broke eye contact as she bent over and slid her remaining clothes down her legs. Satisfied with his audible gasp for air, she kicked her garments aside and grabbed one of her daggers, sauntering back to the edge of her bed and nudging his legs apart. Gripping her single blade and turning it once in her hand, she leaned forward and cut through the cloth of his smalls. She smirked at his wide-eyed stare and tossed her weapon aside, running her nails along the tops of his thighs and tearing the ruined clothing away.

Never once breaking their gaze, she took him in both hands. "My Prince is rendered speechless…" she grinned, and lowered her mouth to take in his entire length.

His breath hitched, a low, guttural moan escaping his throat as he fell back and gripped at her bed sheets. Now it was her turn to take the reigns once more. Her left hand gripped the base of his erection while the right stroked him with her mouth, and she reveled in every twitch and every pulse from her actions. She stopped once to circle the tip with her tongue, and the sound of her whispered name passing through his ragged breaths was like music to her ears. Gripping him tighter, she swelled with excitement at her victory; but his hands on her shoulders abruptly pulled her up and had her beneath him.

"You think you've won this little game, do you?" his husky voice sounded in her ears as his hands gripped her hips and yanked her to her knees. Bringing a hand up her round backside, he gave her a quick spank for good measure before setting himself at her warm, slick entrance.

Sliding against her opening, she surprised him then by leaning back and taking every inch of him inside her. His surprised gasp was drowned out by her cry of pleasure; and with a triumphant smirk, he grabbed her hips and thrust into her again. Waves of satisfaction consumed them both, and his head fell back as her warmth surrounded him, molded to fit him, and he fell forward against her as she met every one of his thrusts with a roll of her hips.

Their breathing was heavy, sweat forming in tiny beads across their heated bodies as they moved together. Another cry of surrender left her lips, but their game was lost to him now, just as it was surely lost to her. Memories, words and feelings, all melted away until there was only this moment, and he promised himself again that it would not be their last. This night would be the first of many where he could show her, let her feel just how much he wanted her, how much he needed her…

He slowed his movements, pulling out of her for only a second and sharing in her disappointed moan at the loss of warmth. Strong hands lifted her gently, turned her over so that he could look at her. Lying on her back, her eyes found his as she fought to control her soft breaths. The warmth in her gaze spoke all of the feelings that words could never say.

"You were my first…" Her smile was heard in her soft voice. "I never would have changed it."

As he lowered himself down, bracing his weight on his elbows so as not to hurt her, he ran his fingertips down the side of her face.

"And you were my last…" When he entered her again he held her gaze with all the love that he could offer. "I intend to keep it that way."

Mirroring his movements, she set her fingertips against the skin of his cheek. "I love you," she whispered, and sealed her claim with a slow, passionate kiss that put writers and poets to shame.

She arched her back as he pushed into her, again and again, never breaking their kiss and neither letting go of their hold on one another. The feeling of wholeness, of completion moved them in ways that could never be described, and in an effort to make sure that it wasn't a dream, they strengthened their grip. Breaking the kiss, Sebastian dropped his head to her chest as her body clenched around his, bringing him to his release as waves of pleasure racked their bodies and brought them to that height of blissful ecstasy before gently setting them down again.

His labored breaths warmed her already searing skin, and time was lost to them both as they lay there, finding their minds and not quite willing to move their numbed bodies. The sounds of the crackling fire were the only things to ground their senses in her dimly lit room; but the smell, feel, and taste of her was soaked into him, and as she ran her gentle fingers through his hair, Sebastian had never known a more beautiful peace in his entire life.

In the back of his mind, he was vaguely aware that the world was still moving, that life and duty still called for his attention, but for the moment, everything was right. He rolled to the side and took her with him in his arms, cradling her petite body against his and breathing in her perfect scent. His perfect, fiery little duelist. His future bride. His love…

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** _Yay! :D The moment we've all been waiting for! (Rated 'M' for a reason…) ^^ I hope you all enjoyed it.  
>As always, I appreciate each and every one of your reviews (not to mention the 'favoring,' which also makes my day). Thank you <em>_**so**__ much! _

_Enjoy and stay tuned!_


	13. Duty

Rays of muted reds and purples shone through the small break in the curtains. Hawke inclined her head slightly to acknowledge them – a difficult task in their current position. The garish beams cast an opaque golden column across her floorboards that seemed to grow with each passing moment. A recollection passed over her, of a time when she could only associate dusk with feelings of silent trepidation – of a lifetime she had all but forgotten. The memory was brief.

Wandering hands at her side easily dispatched any ephemeral ponderings, and a smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth. It was odd, she thought, to regard her past with such indifference. She had always advocated living life in the present moment, convincing herself that being free of the past meant being stronger; but really, deep down she knew it was a lie. For so long, apathy had worked as a suitable mask to cope with all the pain, agony, regret, and frustration. …But perhaps she was finally ready to let go. The present certainly had an allure to it that she could no longer ignore. With great pleasure, she yielded to the strong arms wrapped loosely around her torso.

Her sigh of surrender earned her a heated kiss that had her clutching to the tan skin of his back. Fingernails scraped and bit into his flesh, and a low moan brought waves of goose bumps over them both. Inhaling deeply, she breathed in the rich scent of incense that still clung faintly to his wonderful, natural smell. His larger hand lifted to stroke the side of her face, warm fingertips searing her heated skin while the rest of her body molded to fit his perfectly. Entwining further amidst the tangled mass of sheets, she smiled against his lips and pulled back to meet those beautiful blue eyes.

Sebastian set a gentle hand over her exposed hip and held her close. "I could get used to this…"

"Mmm…" A contented sigh left her lips as she buried her face against his toned chest. "How long do you think we have we been laying here?"

"Not long enough," he whispered, the warmth spreading against the skin of her hand.

Slowly, he unfurled his grip and slid a tender caress from her shoulder down the length of her side, his touch growing possessive as it curved around her hip and lifted her thigh up around him.

"I still feel like I might wake any moment," she whispered, peaking up at him. "But if this is really all just a dream… I never want it to end."

The swirling darkness in his eyes was intoxicating, the intensity of his gaze…paralyzing. She grasped his neck, her body only capable of savoring each torturous sensation as his fingers left trails of fire along her skin. Maker help her, but she felt so vulnerable. But for the first time in her life, she did not care. How long had she spent waiting for a moment like this? How many years had she _wanted_ this? Staring into his eyes, she felt an excitement course through her like electricity, a warmth that filled every inch of her with an indescribable sense of passion and love, comfort and security – a happiness she had never truly known. It almost felt too good to be true. Finding her strength again, she curled her fingertips at the base of his neck, relishing in the feel of his soft auburn hair.

She smirked, watching as his gaze wandered down to her lips. "You seem to be lost in a trance of your own."

His eyes lifted back to hers. "And why wouldn't I be? The most beautiful woman in all of Thedas rests in my arms." He pulled her flush against him. "And in spite of my faults, she – in all her splendor and perfection – chose _me_…" He pulled her closer, a contented sigh leaving his lips and warming the top of her head. "I too feel as though I might wake any moment."

"_Perfection_?" she giggled, fighting hard to hide the deep crimson rushing to her cheeks. "Your Highness is sorely mistaken. …And you are also the only man capable of making me _blush_." She pouted against the crook of his shoulder and felt the rumbling of laughter in his chest.

"I speak only the truth. Now that I am free to shower you with compliments, I find it difficult to contain myself."

She shifted to further hide beneath him. "It's all going straight to my head, I promise you."

"More so to your cheeks, apparently," he chuckled, pulling back to meet her flushed face. Seeing the tiniest hint of distress tinged in her eyes, however, his brow knitted in concern.

"…I," she sighed, her eyes shameful. "I'm sorry. …I was just thinking I've been so indignant in how I've treated you recently, acting like you were the only one to blame for what happened, when your greatest crime was mere hesitation."

"Yet the longer I waited, the harder it was to act." He gave her a sideways grin, leaning up on his elbow to face her on his side. "You say 'hesitation' as though it were harmless, but my fear almost lost me the chance to be with you."

"Well you can't take _all_ the responsibility," she huffed, rolling onto her back. "It was my own damned pride that kept us apart the second time. …In fact, I _knowingly_ took more than my share of opportunities to take out my frustration on you during any disagreements we had."

Amusement lit his eyes. "Oh, aye, your ferocity in battle is matched only by that of your debates. …But why waste any more of our time worrying about what has already been done?"

"That's usually something _I_ would say. But…" Her eyes met his with a wistful chuckle. It was amazing how easy it felt to tell him anything, as always. "A part of me still feels like I don't deserve you…"

Eyes softening, he took her hands in his, meeting her gaze with deep sincerity. "The last thing you _deserve_, Hawke, is to continue living with any doubt or self-loathing in your heart." His warm lips pressed against her knuckles. "I love every part of you. And I will gladly dedicate every day of my life to showing you how much love and happiness you _truly_ deserve."

She felt tears brimming at the corners of her eyes, but the smile that graced her lips was wide and genuine. "Only you…" she admitted softly, her green eyes shimmering as she stared into his. "You were the only one to ever make me feel like this – to make me feel like being myself was enough."

"And _you_ were the one to make me see that I didn't have to try too hard to be happy." His blue eyes were warm and loving when he looked down at her.

Maker, she loved him. Wrapping her arms around him suddenly, she tackled and rolled on top of him, mumbling into his chest. "Maker have mercy on anyone or anything that tries to take you away from me again."

"Mercy indeed," he chuckled, returning her embrace. "I've seen the way you fight."

"Not entirely…" She pulled back to look at him but kept her hold on him firm. "You've never seen me fight when someone I love is in danger. I can be quite vicious when someone threatens what's mine."

"Your concern for me is very endearing," he teased lightly, stroking the top of her head. "And I very much enjoy this possessive side of you."

She moved to roll away but his strong hold on her kept her flush against him. "And I, _yours_," she grinned, meeting his eyes before leaning forward to capture his lips with her own. She deserved this – they _both_ did. Forgetting all that they were now – their past, their titles, their roles or responsibilities – and forgetting every trial and obstacle she had faced to come here, she accepted all that he was offering, ready and willing to reciprocate all that she was. Their kiss grew heated, their touch desperate. His hand quickly found its way along her back, and she hitched her breath when he slid his finger across her most sensitive spots, clutching at the skin of his broad shoulders. "Sebastian…"

"Years of suppression…" his rough voice mumbled into her hair as he held her. "You have no idea what you have unleashed."

His words brought a chill up and down her spine. "Well," she breathed with a smile, "I wouldn't be me if I didn't put such boasts to the test…"

His lips quickly found hers again, and Hawke was very glad to have sent her faithful servants out on errands today.

Their games of passion play left them both laying breathless and flushed atop her bed – for a third time – entangled and content as her small fingers drew lazy circles across his chest. Glancing over at her darkened curtains, the slow return of awareness began to take root in her mind. It wouldn't be long before duty called on them both to resume their public roles, play their parts and fulfill their other obligations. Recalling the piling stack of letters on her desk and the numerous favors awaiting her attention nearly brought a strangled groan to her pouted lips. Life had granted them their reprieve; but she wasn't quite ready, or willing, to get back to work yet. Selfishness and laziness be damned, all she wanted was for this night to last…

Her eyes lit up and she shot out of bed with an eager grin, hair disheveled and still stark naked.

Sebastian rolled onto his stomach when she launched from his hold, laughing before sitting up. "I take it you've just had some sort of divine revelation."

"We're going out tonight," she replied with an excited skip to her step. "Get dressed."

"Out?" Sebastian grinned, slowly stretching his arms above his head. "But-"

"No buts!" she shouted from across her room, tossing his tunic over his head. "The night is young, and this day calls for celebration! A commemoration of our feats! A-" Pulling on her armor, she looked up to find a lazy smile on his face as he surveyed her choice of attire for such an event. "What? It's not like I actually own any _normal_ clothes..."

Sebastian chuckled as he stood to redress. "I love you."

* * *

><p>Stepping through the crooked wooden doorway, the smell of ale, piss, and vomit hit them like a ton of bricks, and a nostalgic smile drifted over Hawke's face. The Hanged Man brought her an indescribably odd sense of comfort – a familiarity stronger than any other place in Kirkwall. Her nose crinkled as she breathed it in, ears twitching at the boisterous uproar of laughter and clattering mugs. After losing her home, she'd had little in the way of replacements. Her own estate now felt like an empty reminder of a life she would never have. But <em>this<em> place… A chuckle tore from her throat when she glanced to her right, where a naked man lay sprawled on his stomach in a fit of hysterical laughter. Attempting to contain her amusement she shook her head, overcome with the usual, wondrous sense of excitement and possibility at the night ahead. _This_ place, for nearly ten years, was the closest thing to a new home she ever had. The Hanged Man felt to her what the Chantry must have been to Sebastian – a safe haven from the rest of the world. Feeling a hand upon hers, Hawke tilted her head back to see her handsome prince smiling down at her, and she met his bright blue eyes with a mischievous glint in her own.

She weaved in and out of the crowded tables, gripping tightly the hand at her back and gesturing a friendly, knowing smile to the bartender, Corff. Inclining his head towards the back of the tavern, his wrinkled grin told her that her favorite dwarf would be where he always was – pouring lavish and scandalous stories in his suite over endless rounds of drinks. Making her way up the few dirty steps, she felt an overwhelming sense of giddiness build in her chest as the warmth from the fireplace pulled her inside. Life had never felt so... good.

Isabella's eyes were the first to greet her, golden irises bouncing between her and Sebastian with a curious and playful wink. Hawke met her inquisitive gaze with a toothy grin that spoke volumes on the assumed subject and a twinkle in her eye that promised her friend all the juicy details she could imagine. Sensing Varric's stare, and noting the lull in the room, she simply smiled when his shrewd eyes fastened to their entwined hands. A brief moment passed and a slow smile crept over the dwarf's face before he snatched his mug off the table and gave a loud, hearty chuckle. "It's about damn time!"

Isabella was the first to stand, flashing an approving smile at Sebastian before enveloping her friend in a crushing hug. "Judging by the overpowering _glow_ radiating off of you," she teased, pulling back and setting her hands on her hips. "I'd say it was worth the wait."

Sebastian laughed and cleared his throat, a tint of red growing on his cheeks; but before he could brush off the forward comment, Hawke stepped forward, sporting a wide smile. "Three times over."

The jovial air seemed to grow like the radiating heat of the fire, and Isabella raised an appreciative brow. "Since this _afternoon_? …Well," she smirked at the blushing prince. "Knock me over and bed me twice. I thought only Fenris had that kind of…_stamina_."

Mid-drink, Fenris sputtered and coughed from his corner of the table before turning an unsurprised glance in the pirate's direction. "Haven't you given Varric enough unnecessary detail for his depraved novels?"

"Are you kidding?" Varric shouted with another raise of his mug. "You can never have enough detail – it's what brings my stories to life!" Fenris dragged a gauntleted hand over his face with a sigh, attempting to hide his smirk, while Varric leaned back in his chair and propped his clunky leather boots on the large wooden table, a satisfied grin on his handsome dwarven features. "You two have just added a plethora of content to my current work-in-progress: Dark Secrets of the Confession Booth."

Hawke snorted and covered her mouth, barely capable of holding back any more of her amusement, and offered an apologetic glance in Sebastian's direction, who, much to her surprise, was grinning wickedly, a contemplative hand stroking his chin.

"...'Steamy Transgressions Mid Confession' might be a bit catchier, don't you think?"

Gawking in sheer disbelief, the petite rogue let a single chuckle escape her mouth before the entire room burst into laughter. The mirth was contagious, and Hawke used the moment to lean past the doorway and whistle at the barkeep. His faded brown eyes met hers, and the Champion gave the infamous 'endless rounds' signal with a single thumbs-up before skipping back into the room. Snatching up Sebastian's hand, she led them both to a pair of vacant seats and fell into hers with a heavy thump and a contented sigh. Varric was still holding a desperate hand over his trembling belly to keep from laughing out of his chair. "Choir boy I had my doubts at first, but now I only find myself inwardly grieving at the lost hours we will never get back."

"Oh aye," Sebastian chuckled. "A grief I know too well. Let us learn from my mistakes, then, and make do with the moments we have in front of us." Hawke peeked up at him when he gave her hand a light squeeze.

"I'll drink to that," Varric smiled wide, nodding his head when the usual barmaid, Norah, came in with a tray in each hand. Lifting his mug high this time, he cleared his throat. "A toast – to friends, to making do with what _precious_ moments we have amidst this monocracy, and to the man _outside_ of the Chantry!"

"And finally _inside_ somewhere else," Isabella added with a raise to her own mug.

The round of cheers was chased away by the silence of emptying mugs, and Hawke and Sebastian reached for two unclaimed drinks with a smile, tapping their cups and toasting to their own personal victory with knowing glances.

"…Did we just celebrate Sebastian being inside Hawke's house?" Merrill finally spoke up, her delicate brow knitted and her eyes wide. "How come _I_ never got a party after my first visit?" When the laughter erupted once again Merrill gave a heavy sigh, a confused smile gracing her petite elven face. "I missed something dirty again, didn't I…"

Out of breath and watery-eyed, Varric dragged the tip of his finger along his lower eyelid to catch his tears. "I'll explain when you're older, daisy."

"I find our Merrill's naiveté to be quite...endearing," Hawke giggled, flashing the blushing elf a grin. "It's my favorite thing about you."

The young mage beamed. "Why thank you, Hawke! …I think."

With a broad and genuine smile, their friend and Champion took a large gulp of ale before clearing her throat and scanning the room. "I'm glad most of you are here – it saved me the trouble of having to go look for you."

"Blondie's probably brooding in his cave, as usual, while our beloved guard captain is out on routine patrol at the docks. And here…" Waving a hand out over the spread of cards, Varric grinned. "A simple game of Wicked Grace amongst us Lowtown thugs."

"And Hightown squatters," Fenris added with a smirk.

Merrill's lips pursed into a frown when she revisited her hand. "And Isabella was winning... again."

The raven-haired duelist leaned back in her chair with a smirk. "The day any of you actually _catch_ me cheating, I'll gladly buy all the rounds."

The warm and cozy suite grew quiet, and Hawke peaked a curious glance at Sebastian when he leaned forward in his chair and scanned his eyes over the spread of cards, eying each of the four players seated around the table and stopping to meet the pirate's curious stare.

"Would you be willing to bet on that?"

Her golden eyes narrowed in intense interest and Isabella leaned forward to match his challenging smirk with one of her own. "The _priest_ thinks he can match _his_ skill against _mine_?"

"_If_ you'll recall," his blue eyes twinkled innocently. "I wasn't born in the Chantry."

Fighting to contain her grin, Hawke's green eyes met Varric's, and the dwarf listened silently with a quirk to the corner of his mouth.

Gathering the cards and never breaking eye contact, Isabella began to deal.

"You're on."

* * *

><p>The racket outside grew louder as time passed – the Hanged Man reaching its peak hours. Inside their room, however, the moments of silence continued to stretch on... Hawke was sure that Isabella had forgotten how to blink.<p>

"…I …I can't believe you beat me."

Staring down at her cards in disbelief, the pirate could only chuckle in pure astonishment. Watching from the sidelines, Merrill's emerald eyes were like saucers, seeing her undefeated adversary finally bested in the most intense game of Wicked Grace any of them had ever witnessed.

"His royal _sly_ness always had a keen eye," Varric chuckled. "He was the only one to ever beat _me_, back in the day."

Sebastian grinned sheepishly. "To be honest, I was afraid you'd call my bluff… I'm surprised I remembered so well."

A lazy grin spread over Hawke's face and she let out an exhausted chuckle before kicking her own lightly-armored boots upon the table. "It's just one of his many hidden, _roguish_ talents." She met Sebastian's blue eyes and a very familiar warmth ignited within her. The night was far from over.

"Be warned," Fenris smirked. "She'll be relentless in her quest to reclaim her title."

Isabella finally blinked, and took in a deep breath. "He can bet his princely _ass_ I will…" She reached into her cleavage and retrieved her coin purse with a smile. "But fair is fair – rounds are on me tonight."

"Which leads _me_ to our _next_ event…"

"Oh!" Merrill raised a knowing brow. "Hawke's got that look in her eye, Varric…"

"The last time I saw _that_ look, I was out two sovereigns and spent the next morning cowering in darkness to avoid the wrath of daylight." He rubbed thoughtfully against his temple, exchanging a new round of knowing looks between their gathered companions and grinning at their volunteered patron.

"Oh, you cruel wench…" Isabella pouted, tossing her entire purse in the center of the table.

"A new bet…" Hawke grinned wildly, setting her leather gauntlets aside before rolling up her sleeves and waving down their barmaid. "Isabella buys the first three rounds. Each following round will be tallied until the first contestant backs out, and covers all those accumulated up to their withdrawal; and so on."

"So the winner walks with no losses?" The corner of Sebastian's mouth rose slightly.

"Unless you count the contents of their stomach," Fenris sighed, reaching for the fresh assortment of drinks being set upon the table.

Empty tray in hand, Norah sauntered out of the room, squeezing past Anders at the doorway. The befuddled mage took in the picture ahead of him with mixed emotions in his light brown eyes, and he cleared his throat to announce his appearance. "I can't decide whether my timing is very good or very poor…" His gaze shifted between Hawke and Sebastian.

"It couldn't have been better!" Varric lifted his mug with a charming smile. "In my experience, you don't _truly_ get to know a man until you've seen him shit-faced."

Hawke stood with an ecstatic raise of her drink. "Let the _thrid_ official-Hanged-Man-drinking-challenge begin!"

"I take it back, choirboy. All of it." Varric chuckled. "No one's ever out-drunken me," he hiccupped, "…although I hear my grandmother could have drank Orzammar dry!" he laughed loudly. "Now _there's_ a pretty picture – the entire population of dwarves, _sober_..."

Sebastian smirked and gestured a good sportsman-like bow in Varric's direction, fumbling a bit when he leaned too far.

The large table in Varric's room was literally filled with trays of empty mugs, the overflow even littering part of the floor, and saturating the room with a potent stench that could intoxicate anyone who breathed it in. Splayed across Varric's bed, Hawke grinned in wicked satisfaction as she surveyed the room between bouts of hysterical laughter. Nestled beside her was a very unconscious Merrill – spent after her third round. Fenris was at the other end of the table, a lazy grin on his face as he stared down at the giggly pirate stretched out horizontally across several chairs, her head resting in his lap. Isabella had put up a noteworthy fight, winning third place in their contest but losing most of her motor skills in the process. Anders was half-awake, leaning against the table and mumbling incoherently to himself as he counted out his portion of debt.

"I had heard rumors about the dwarves and their ability to hold their ale," Sebastian chuckled, leaning against the mantle of the fireplace, "But _you_, Varric, deserve a seat of honor for that feat." His brogue was audibly thicker, but his enunciation was unaffected. Hawke couldn't help but beam with pride at his double-victory that night. "Lads from Starkhaven are practically born with metal lining their insides – no matter how much ale you pour down their throats," he laughed and rubbed a hand over his eyes, "it all goes straight to their chamber pots."

"I'd hesitate to challenge any dwarves from Starkhaven, then." Varric leaned back in his chair. "Ancestors… You should have started coming here sooner! Do you know how much coin we could win with our combined skills?"

"H's tricky," Isabella slurred, pointing an accusatory finger at the ceiling. "I'm not makin' _any_more bets 'til I learn all 's secrets."

"Good luck with that!" Hawke laughed and stood to cross the room on wobbly legs and reclaim her seat at the table. "Since the day I met him," she giggled. "He's been full of surprises."

Sebastian turned affectionate eyes towards her and rejoined her side. "Not nearly as much as you… I _still_ shudder, thinking back on that duel you left me little choice to decline."

"I totally beat you," the young Champion grinned.

"Aye…" Sebastian sighed. "There was a reason I've since gone out of my way to avoid your ire."

Hawke beamed up at him. "Modest as always… Though we both know that I couldn't hit the broad side of an ogre with a bow."

"…Technically you'd be hitting him with an _arrow_," he teased, earning him a playful punch to his bicep.

Straining to sit up, Isabella chuckled. "Y-two are cute."

"Hawke!" Varric cheered loudly, raising a loose wrist and an empty mug. "I approve of this union!"

"I take it you're _staying_ in Kirkwall then?" Anders' cold voice cut through the merriment like a sharp blade, and everyone at the table turned to acknowledge the previously silent apostate.

Hawke's eyes narrowed as she regarded the tense rise of his shoulders, and the bristling static in the air around him. The suite grew quiet, until only the echoing commotion from the rest of the tavern could be heard. She studied him – impaired senses aside. Anders had, unarguably, been standoffish recently... to say the least. Slowly, he was losing what was left of his soul to that spirit of Justice inside him, and without even realizing it, the healer she'd first met in Darktown was all but gone. He seemed like a different person entirely. Her eyes shifted, catching the condemning stare in his piercing brown eyes aimed at Sebastian. And anger boiled within her.

The Starkhaven heir merely raised a mild brow. "No, actually. But what concern is that of yours?" His voice was even and calm, but his icy blue eyes met those of his antagonizer in matched ferocity.

Anders eyes met Hawke's for a brief moment and she watched him with blatant confusion. His gaze trailed over her face once before he returned to the heated staring contest he had started. "Consider it a mere curiosity," he bit back. "You couldn't seem to make up your mind about anything for awhile… I admit I had no idea that your vows were so _lenient_." He shrugged his shoulders. "If I had known we'd all be gathering here to celebrate you weaning off the Chantry's tits, I'd have come much sooner."

"Your observation is almost as bold as it is misguided." Sebastian's voice grew low. "Yet, again, I fail to see how anything I do is of your concern."

"_I_ fail to see what he's done to warrant a tone like that in the first place," Fenris growled, turning to set a curled fist on the table. "You enjoy picking fights with everybody, don't you mage?"

Anders turned his attention to the elf with a slight twitch to his upper lip. "Stay out of it," he snapped. "_You're_ one to talk about picking fights."

"Then I s'ppose you _enjoy_ having everyone thinking you're a royal prick?" Isabella countered, standing from her seat and setting her palms on the table to level her glare at him.

"Sorry,_ that_ position's already been filled," the mage muttered, casting his eyes back to Sebastian.

The tension in the room was near suffocating, silence growing in the faces of bewilderment and outrage. Whether these were outbursts of suppressed feelings that had grown within their group over the years or simply effects of tonight's drinking, Hawke could not tell. She had little to no control over her own feelings at the moment, and was about ready to pommel-strike Anders in the forehead. What surprised her the most though was Sebastian – the single biggest target of the livid mage's ire – who kept a cool, focused demeanor. If he was hiding any urge to clobber the man in the face, he was hiding it well.

Anders opened his mouth again, but Sebastian beat him to the punch.

"In regards to my position," he began, unmoving, "Your distaste – for the chantry and for my being a part of it – has never been a secret to me, so I can't imagine you were expecting any amount of incredulousness at this stage. If so, I'm sorry to disappoint. Your continued attempts to rile me are juvenile, at best; but I'd suggest you hold your tongue, lest you seem more a fool than you already are for spouting off on matters your single-minded brain is incapable of understanding. …_But_ " He paused for a moment, passing glances between Hawke and Anders. "As for any jealousy, which I _suspect_ to be the underlying cause here, I'd first determine whether or not those feelings of unrequited longing were simply lost to you in the first place." Anders frowned deeply, glancing around in nervous twitches, but Sebastian pressed further. "Would your apparent infatuation even be acknowledged if I were out of the picture?" His blue eyes narrowed slowly. "Or is it easier to put the blame on me, _hate_ me because she will never see beyond what we all see now – an angry coward, ruled by his temper and lost to his insanity and _bitterness_."

All attention shifted to the quiet apostate, whose eyes were like fire. His fingers twitched on the surface of the table, scratching lightly against the wood and sending tiny tendrils of heated smoke from his fingertips. His upper lip twitched, and everyone was sure he would ignite the entire tavern in a sea of flames if the situation was not brought under control. Again Hawke felt the shifting air around her and her green eyes went wide when she saw the faint trace of blue ebbing around the mage's eyes.

"Anders!" She stood in a raging panic, and he focused his dangerous attention on her before the magic began to dissipate. The terror and fury in her eyes spoke all the words he needed to hear, and he regarded her face again as he regained full control. Abruptly, he tore his gaze away and stood, flipping his chair backwards and deafening the silent room with a resounding thud. He strode past them, without another word, and disappeared out the door.

Not a second after he disappeared past the doorway, Aveline stepped in with furrowed brows following after the fuming apostate – in vague interest, at most. A half-assed chuckle passed through her lips. "Is he having his monthlies again?"

"One might say…" Varric sighed.

"And he always said _I_ was the dangerous one…" Merrill quietly noted, hesitantly rejoining everyone at the table.

Isabella fell back in her chair with a scowl. "What a buzz kill."

They each snuck a subtle glance at Hawke, or Sebastian, at various intervals in the silence that followed. The young duelist reequipped her gauntlets after running her hands through her hair, probably appearing somewhere between mortified and exhausted. Breaking the gloomy trance that had settled around them, Aveline stepped forward.

The heavy clunking of her plate boots sounded across the wooden floorboards, and she set a friendly hand on Hawke's shoulder. "I don't usually deliver messages like this – and this one's mostly aimed at you," the guard captain inclined her head towards Sebastian. "This afternoon one of the Mothers asked after you. She must have seen us traveling together at one point, else she'd have little reason to bring such a request to my attention. I figured if you weren't in Hightown, and if I didn't see any of you on patrol," she smiled, "that I'd find you here."

"Lucky guess," Hawke teased. Her shoulders rose and fell with the deep breath she allowed herself before responding. "Did they give you any further details?"

"Just that the Grand Cleric had a matter in need of both your attentions."

Hawke turned her head towards Sebastian when his gaze dropped to the table, contemplation working his brow in knots. "…Your guess is as good as mine, Hawke. I suppose… either way, it's too late to go now."

With a gentle hand on his, she offered him a smile. "We'll head over there first thing in the morning, then."

He returned the gesture in kind, and Aveline observed the exchange with more than mild interest. "It's about time," the redhead grinned. She turned back towards the door and nodded her head to the remainder of their companions before returning to her duties.

All eyes were facing the door when she left, and the silence began to creep back around them like a fog.

"Gah!" Varric shouted with a wave of dismissal in the air. "Between the mages and templars in the city or the mage in our group, I can't tell which is more likely to explode." He took an aggravated gulp of ale before exhaling loudly. "Can Kirkwall not go _three_ years without a major crisis?"

"I hear Ostwick's a nice city," Isabella mused aloud. "Still on the coast…"

In the midst of Varric and Isabella's ranting, Fenris turned to look up at Sebastian and Hawke. "I hope you'll just ignore him, like the rest of us do…"

"It needs not saying," Sebastian reassured him with a smile. "But thank you for your concern."

"We should probably go," Hawke noted with a sigh, and stood with Sebastian to collect themselves. "Maker knows what time it's gotten to be…"

"Hawke."

She turned to look at Varric, and an appreciative smile made its way onto her face. "No worries, Varric." Taking Sebastian's hand in hers, she cast a smile at each of them. "We'll be fine."

Regarding her eyes carefully, he found her happiness to be genuine, and Varric nodded in approval. Lifting his mug one last time, he beamed at them both. "I'd better be invited to the damn wedding."

Hawke and Sebastian both chuckled. "It wouldn't be a party without you, Varric."

"I also hear Starkhaven's got its perks…" Isabella nodded thoughtfully.

"I'd love to try the pies made of fish!" Merrill exclaimed happily, the two women now lost in their own alcohol-induced daydreams.

Fenris nodded to them with a raise of his own drink as they headed for the door.

"We'll call on you sometime tomorrow," Hawke waved over her shoulder. "Thanks for everything guys."

"Til next time, Hawke," Varric called after them before glancing around his room. "If the morning light doesn't kill me, Norah will certainly finish the job."

* * *

><p>When Hawke and Sebastian emerged together, the moon was but a tiny sliver in the sky. The air nipped at the exposed areas of their cheeks, necks, and fingertips, but the cool breeze was a welcoming change to the pungent odors previously surrounding them. The wooden door swung shut, and the clamoring sounds of the tavern faded into muffled shouts, now drowned out details beneath the whistling wind. Spring was finally arriving, and Hawke found herself wondering where life would take her in the coming months. Lowtown welcomed them both with a strange and overwhelming sense of familiarity and Hawke felt Sebastian squeeze her hand gently.<p>

That's right, she thought, looking up at the sky. It was around this same time of year when they first met…

She looked ahead of them as they began to walk in silence, a content smile between her rosy cheeks as she breathed in the night air.

"I didn't realize it until now," Sebastian's voice was light. "But I'm going to miss the arbitrary strolls through Lowtown we seem to take at night."

Hawke couldn't help but chuckle, leaning into his shoulder as they walked. "I suppose you'll have to teach me the layout of Starkhaven's shady streets so I can brave those with you as well."

"After this long, I'm afraid I'll be just as much a stranger to the layout as you." A genuine smile touched his lips as he looked down at her. "But my heart soars with delight to know that you anticipate meeting this venture at my side."

"Sebastian Vael, I would brave the Kocari Wilds in the most uninhabitable areas of uncharted Ferelden to be with you." Her green eyes peaked up at him, the tips of her hair blowing around her face. "And don't you forget it."

"And I you, love," he breathed, blue eyes locked with hers. "Make no mistake."

They walked casually, quietly enjoying one another's company until they reached an isolated spot by the water, overlooking the docks – the very same spot they visited together twice before. Her eyes met his again, and without reason to hold back, she kissed him fiercely then. Holding her to him, he eagerly matched her sudden ferocity until they pulled apart to inhale shuddering breaths, eyes never leaving the others. Thoughts seemed to abandon her so easily now… It took all the power in the world to break eye contact; and when she did, the rest of the world came back to her. She brought her eyes back to his as they faced one another, and opened her mouth to speak.

"If you're going to apologize for anything, don't." He chuckled when her brow furrowed and her mouth snapped shut. "If anyone should be apologizing, it should be me."

Her bottom lip curled into a slight pout. "For what?"

"For being presumptuous – for bringing you into my words against Anders like some sort of means to a personal victory."

Crossing her arms, she nudged him with her elbow. "Your apology is far from necessary, but I accept it because I know you will not take it back. As far as my _own_ opinion…" she huffed, pushing her hair behind her ears and staring out at the water. "Anders got what he deserved. …I…can't even believe the person he's become. I didn't see it before, and I didn't want to believe anything you said at the time; but you're right…" Her eyes found his again, laced with concern. "He's dangerous."

She shivered when the wind picked up, and Sebastian put his hands on her arms. In an attempt to warm her, he began rubbing his thumbs over the fabric in small frictional circles. His blue eyes met hers with the utmost sincerity. "The only thing that matters now is that we focus on the path ahead of us. If Anders reveals himself to be a threat, to you or to anyone else again, I would take action to prevent any unnecessary danger. But for now," he brushed a gentle thumb against her cheek. "Let us have this moment."

Hawke smiled up at him with little reluctance. "I did have a lot of fun tonight."

"_A lot_ of fun…" he agreed, losing his own gaze to the rippling water. "I don't think I've even _touched_ a drop of alcohol in nearly six years. And apparently, I've still got it…" A trademark smirk played across his lips and Hawke felt her heartbeat quicken at the sight.

"I could have told you that," she teased lightly, biting her lip. "I suppose I truly am a horrible influence… Bringing back all your vices, stirring your inner demons…"

"No," he chuckled deeply, pulling her to him and wrapping his arms around her. "Blame Isabella, blame Varric, blame my unshakable pride; but don't blame yourself. I think I needed this as much as you did. …I haven't gone out and had…_fun_ like that in a long time."

"I told you traveling with us had its perks," she smiled up at him. "…Even if it took awhile for you to enjoy them…" Her eyes fell and her voice grew soft.

Staring down at her, Sebastian's eyes searched her face. "What is it?"

"…I feel like I've been waiting for a change like this for so long," she whispered. "Now that I'm ready to move on, I feel like Kirkwall won't let me," she admitted quietly. She leaned in to embrace him as her muted green eyes cast out at the water, and a rueful chuckle passed through her lips. "I hate this city."

Sebastian tilted his head to peak at the side of her face. "I doubt the feeling is mutual – Kirkwall would not have survived this long without you." Cradling her head against his chest, he stroked her hair. "And neither would I."

"I know… But I'm tired of fighting endless causes that never seem to have a solution." She huffed a frustrated sigh, admitting words to the one person she knew would never judge her. "I know it sounds selfish, but a part of me wants to let the mages and templars work it out themselves, damn the consequences."

"As they should," he assured her, leaning his head down to kiss her cheek. "You've always gone above and beyond the world's expectations. Not a single person could blame your mortal bones for being tired." He planted another kiss to the top of her head, smiling into her hair. "You will make a wonderful Princess."

"If Kirkwall doesn't try and make me Viscount first," she scoffed.

"It's _your_ life Hawke. Live it the way you've always wanted to."

"…Then promise me." She pulled back to look up at him, her green eyes searching his as he held her close. "As soon as this business with the Grand Cleric is settled, as soon as we're able, I want to go. ...Before this city threatens to swallow me whole... I won't wait around to be another mediator in this futile, age-old argument." She smiled up at him. "I'm ready to start a new life with you; and I don't want to wait any longer than absolutely necessary."

His smile was wide and full of adoration. "The moment I proposed to you, I told myself we would do this together. Once I had made my decisions, I too had been eager to act upon them. Starkhaven has needed a Prince for a long time now… But I think," he searched her eyes intently. "The lady needed one first."

The blush on Hawke's cheeks only intensified. "Don't tell me," she teased, "that my 'damsel-in-distress' lines actually _worked_ on you all those years ago."

"I'd have swept you off your feet then and there… if I had any idea where I was going, myself."

A twinkle lit her green eyes. "And now that you do?" As soon as the words left her mouth, she squeaked in surprise when his strong arms scooped her up off the ground and cradled her to his chest.

Failing miserably to hide her mirth, she sighed happily and tucked her head beneath his chin. "Hightown is quite a walk from here… Lots of steps…" When he did not respond, she chuckled and suppressed a yawn. "Again I must credit your persistence."

Sebastian simply smiled, concentrating on his footing once they reached the stairs. "Thank the Maker you don't have a stubborn mind _not_ to be carried. It appears to be dawn already..."

The rays of vibrant reds and purples shone through the break in the looming Hightown buildings. Hawke's tired eyes traveled up the stairs and into the sky, brow furrowing as she acknowledged the blood-colored sunrise with a far-off expression. What was it Isabella used to say about 'red skies at morning…' Oh, right. 'Sailor's take warning.' Good thing they were never out at sea.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**_: ^^ Uh-oh…  
>(I had so much fun writing this chapter :)<em>


	14. The Last Straw, Part I

In life there are times when a person is granted a moment of foresight. There are instances where, whether by fate or by chance, one is given an opportunity to see glimpses of the future – hints or shadows of what's to come. Even rarer still, are the moments in which to act upon them. Such warnings had come and gone in his own life – too many to count – but this one…  
>Sebastian could not let this one go.<p>

He did his best to cloak his agitation. Very briefly he closed his eyes as Elthina spoke, her voice audibly weary from years of struggle. In that silent interlude of his mind, he uttered a prayer for guidance and patience, for the safety of the innocents whose lives were now at stake. It felt like ages since he last spoke with the Maker.

"I will not leave my flock."

Bright blue eyes opened to clash with the Grand Cleric's faded ones. It was not with contempt that he met her stance, but with pleading helplessness. It could be heard in his voice when he spoke.

"Would you let yourself die?"

Elthina's gaze flickered back and forth across his face, and her gray eyes seemed to soften further.

Sebastian knew that look. It spoke in words only a mother could offer to quiet her child's fears - a look of genuine adoration. His temper, in turn, could only diminish under her gaze; and a unique understanding passed between them. She was, after all, mother to him for almost half his life. His only family to replace the one he lost.

She stepped forward and took one of his hands into hers, resting it gently between her soft and wrinkled fingers. Her smile was one with clear confidence and resolute determination. "'There is no greater devotion than to lay one's life at the Maker's feet,'" she recited. The Chant flowed soothingly from her voice as it always had. "'There is no better death than to take the blow for another.'"

From behind them he could hear Hawke shifting in place, fidgeting with her armor and opening her mouth as if she had something to say. The breath she had been holding released slowly, and she moved to stare out over the nave of the Chantry. From the corner of his eye, Sebastian watched her set a silent hand against the altar pedestal.

"Please Your Grace." He drew his attention back to the Grand Cleric, taking her smaller hands between his own and squeezing them lightly. "We heard it ourselves, not an hour ago – Sister Nightingale thinks there will be war."

Elthina closed her eyes and nodded slowly, as if she had already foreseen this outcome and prepared her destiny. "Then I must make peace." At his incessant grip she looked up at him with patience and benevolence. "Settle yourself Sebastian. I'm in no personal danger. I am Grand Cleric – who would dare attack me?"

Brow furrowed with urgency and purpose, he released his hold on her hands and set one fist over his heart, bowing his head. "If you will not shield yourself, then_ I_ will be your shield." Elthina raised a bemused, but appreciative brow. Even if she did not fully grasp this danger as he thought she did, this was all he could offer her... "You will come through this safely, by the Maker's name. I swear it."

Movement to his right brought his eyes to Hawke's, whose steely green gaze was as hard as his own as she nodded her head to the Grand Cleric. He took her hand in his then. There was a need in his grip that she must have sensed, because her leather glove tightened softly, and worked well to calm the apprehension in his heart. Elthina shifted soundlessly beside them and Sebastian turned to meet her curious glances. Hands clasped delicately behind her back, she simply winked at him. It seemed as though no more words could be said in that moment, on that subject or otherwise; and Sebastian met Elthina's knowing gaze with a smile in his eyes.

They left in silence, he and Hawke. Their echoing footsteps were abruptly drowned out by the soft winds bursting through the open doors, and they both paused to shield their eyes from the blinding sunlight. Sharing awkward glances, Sebastian laughed softly, inclining a gracious smile to the Sister holding the door open for them before they ventured out into the morning air.

The Chantry balcony seemed to beckon him. What fragment of solace its limited view had offered him in the past bore little to no effect on him now. Thought after thought slowly began to fill his mind, until it felt as though his head was swimming, drowning in a flood of newfound uncertainty. It had been one thing, to acknowledge the unrest in this city in passing observation; but to hear a confirmation firsthand – by the Divine's own agent – was something else entirely. His fear for Elthina's safety was warring with his own unraveling plans. Everything he had worked so hard to build over the past few months, all of it was unknown to him once again. What fate would befall Kirkwall – the Chantry – should he leave? What of that of Starkhaven – his rightful kingdom – should he decide to stay? In spite of the crushing weight on his shoulders, his feet carried him out to the corner of the terrace. Setting an unsteady hand upon the stone wall, and gazing with troubled eyes at the crowded streets below, he nearly flinched at the soft sound of Hawke's approaching steps.  
>…What of his promise to her?<p>

The soft sound of her sigh drifted about him on the wind. With a hesitancy in his gaze, his blue eyes regarded her as she settled her elbows against the stone rail beside him. A warm breeze blew gently around them, lifting loose strands of her chestnut hair that glittered in the morning light. When she turned to face him, eyes tired and knowing, she simply offered him a light smile. "The predictability of the turmoil that follows us is growing old, don't you think?"

"Hawke, I-"

"Don't think for an instant," she grinned wearily, "that I don't understand. I know what duty entails."

His eyes searched hers briefly before she turned her head away, her gaze passing out over Kirkwall's streets. He chuckled wistfully. "I've seen dedication and perseverance in its purest form, traveling in your company. I could never think something like that."

"Then you should also know that I would never condemn you – or the Grand Cleric – for making decisions that force your hands."

His eyes sought hers. "You are not bothered then? These actions would…more than likely delay our plans, indefinitely."

She didn't turn to face him, but her voice had been soft and gentle – understanding. Sebastian took a moment to study her profile, note the tiny details of her armor and the particular way she wore her hair. Recently she took to tying it back, high on her head, the ends of her dark waves falling just below her shoulder blades. He noticed the small curl of hair over her ears, the flaring of her small nostrils as she took in her breaths and the length of dark lashes that batted atop her round cheeks whenever she blinked. Her fingers were curled lightly as she stood, all her weight held onto one of her feet while the other rested up on the toe of her boot, waving gently back and forth in a rhythmic and soothing motion – one of many mannerisms he'd discovered over the years.

She finally turned to face him again. "Sebastian, I may have disagreed with the Chantry's views on more than one occasion, but trust me, I feel for Elthina's position. If you think about it, the city has more or less elected me as a fall back for her indecision. They would have me choose a side before suffering the Grand Cleric's neutrality." She rolled her eyes upon mention of Kirkwall and its citizens, but the moment of irritation quickly passed in her eyes. In its place, compassion and sympathy shone brightly for him to see. "I am far more empathetic to the situation than you think; and I am not so blind in my own opinions that I do not see the suffering on every side."

Sebastian's brow furrowed, a genuine and familiar humility washing over him as he listened to her speak.

"It is as you feared. The Divine would treat the whole city as enemies to root out the corruption." Her face grew serious. "I understand how delicate this situation has become, my own wants and feelings be damned."

"Hawke…"

"This is the price we pay," she smiled sadly. "As Prince's and Champion's…" She stepped forward and set a loving hand against his cheek. He relished in the warmth and reassurance. "But we pay it with the _hope_ of what peace our sacrifice will bring."

His smile mirrored her own, and he nodded slowly, pausing to brush a fluttering strand of hair behind her ear. She was truly a wonder. "If Elthina isn't going to listen to reason, I am going to at least make sure that the Chantry is well aware of the looming threat of war. …I can't bring myself to abandon her."

"Your cause is just," she assured him with a stroke of her hand against his face. "Starkhaven has waited nearly ten years for its Prince to return. It can wait a little while longer."

His hand slid to the back of her neck, rubbing tender and appreciative caresses across her skin. "And in the meantime?"

She sighed, seemingly content with his touch. "There is a stack of letters near to my ceiling that I've been ignoring." A guilty grin spread over her face. "No matter how many times I look at them, they're still addressed to 'Hawke.'"

"Knight-Commander Meredith might have found more virgin 'blood mages' for you to interrogate," he chuckled.

She snorted with clear distaste. "Just _hearing_ her name gives me a headache."

"I'm surprised at the patience and restraint you have shown," he teased. She stuck her tongue out at him.

"I'm not giving that woman _any_ more reasons to mark the whole city as enemies. If I have to keep saving people's lives via deception and secret passages, then so be it." Her scowl set heavy wrinkles between her brows as she mumbled to herself, "Stupid city with its stupid blood mages… Damn Knight Commander cunt… I swear she's a man. No one knows it yet though."

Sebastian suppressed his laughter, finding her anger and her assortment of facial expressions very endearing. The sound of a muffled cough stole both of their glances to the top of the stairs, where Varric appeared with a small wave and a trademark smirk.

"I believe it." He laughed and sighed heavily, bracing himself to catch his breath. "Ancestors, those stairs are not meant for dwarven legs…"

Hawke turned around to greet their friend with scrutinizing eyes. "...I hesitate to ask how you already _knew_ I was coming to find you."

He righted himself and rolled his shoulders, adjusting the strap that held Bianca in place. Clearing his throat loudly, he approached with confidence. "Hawke, my dear friend. You underestimate my prowess."

Hawke narrowed her eyes. "Bullshit."

"Okay, okay," he swatted at the air and Hawke grinned triumphantly.

"It appears it is _you_ who underestimates _my_ prowess," she beamed.

Varric's defeated glare was warm and playful. "As it so _happens_, I was just out and about Hightown, stretching my legs and throwing my coin at exorbitantly priced merchandise, when I spotted you two lovebirds." He shrugged. "Thought I'd see how it went this morning."

Sebastian watched the slight twitch in Hawke's facial features as she sighed and exchanged weary looks with him. "I'll fill you in on the way back to my place."

"Prince-charming isn't coming?" Varric raised a brow in his direction.

Sebastian briefly wondered if 'prince charming' was the new nickname to replace 'choir boy,' but immediately shook his head to dispel any superfluous thoughts. Sparing a glance up at the towering Chantry walls, he too breathed a heavy sigh. "For the time being, I intend to stay here. Whether I am permitted to leave or required to stay longer remains to be seen…"

"…That bad, huh?" Varric looked between the two of them with a thoughtful glance.

"Hopefully not," Hawke faced Sebastian and took his hand again. "Now let me say goodbye before I change my flustered mind and drag you back to my bed chambers to have my way with you." A warning in her tone suggested her threat was sincere.

Sebastian stared down at her in mild bewilderment as she led him back and opened the Chantry doors for him. "For the record," he informed her as they paused in the doorway. "You are free to have your way with me any time you wish. The coercion is highly unnecessary."

Grabbing him suddenly by the fur of his mail coat, she pulled him down and kissed him hard, with all the fervor she could muster. He barely registered the hushed gasps and stifled gossip of the disapproving Chantry sisters from within. When she pulled back, Sebastian could only grin wide and smug.

He bowed lightly towards her as he reached for her hand. Holding her gaze in his, he pressed his lips against her fingertips, pleased to see the light blush that crept over her cheeks. "My lady…"

She pouted and giggled. "I don't think your chivalry has ever – or will ever – lose its effect on me." Hawke squealed lightly in surprise when he took her in his arms.

"And I don't think your beauty will ever stop inspiring it to do so."

It was difficult to ignore the rush of need as he stared into her eyes, but when Varric cleared his throat he finally – and hesitantly – released her from his hold.

"I think your audience is mistaking you for a demon of temptation, Hawke." Varric chuckled when he found one of the Sisters tearing up at the sight. "And I think one of them wants you dead."

Before Sebastian could reply, she kissed him again, softly, in front of everyone in the Chantry who cared to look. They had nothing to hide, the Champion and the Prince of Starkhaven, and he kissed her back with every ounce of love he had for her.

Hawke pulled back slowly, sneaking a peck to his cheek before giving him some space. "I would kiss him in front of the Divine in Orlais, if I could," she smirked. "Now let us go before I do much more than kiss him, and scar these innocent sisters with images they've never even dreamed possible in their confessions."

He couldn't help the red that tinted his cheeks with that last visual. He cleared his throat and swallowed thickly, shifting uncomfortably in all that armor around him.

Varric grinned, with a devilish stroke to his chin. "Hawke, you're giving me gold here. Lend me a pen when we get back to your place, so I can write that one down…"

"And with that," she sighed softly, waggling her dainty fingers back at him. "I will take my leave."

Sebastian watched her leave in a daze, feeling no pressing reason to deny his eyes a view of her heavenly backside. The Maker gifted everyone certain assets… It would be a shame for them to go unappreciated.

The soft and abrupt "ahem" beside him shook him from his stupor and Sebastian turned to find the Grand Cleric smiling at him through her disapproving look. Shrugging sheepishly, he turned to escort her back inside as the door shut behind them.

She chuckled softly as they passed the dispersing crowd of sisters. "It's about time."

The initial shock of her words made them slow to register, but Sebastian could only laugh when they did. "Aye," he sighed. And that was the last they spoke of it.

They never needed to say much. Elthina was a woman wise beyond more than her years and perceptive past comprehension. She never pried, never dallied, nor did she judge. Even now, she did not condemn him for his choice to return to Starkhaven; nor did she hold his and Hawke's union with anything but praise. In the past, the two of them had argued over his position in the Chantry – his own opinions changing as often as the seasons – but never once did she make him feel inadequate for his hesitation. While she wanted to be sure he made the right choices, what mattered most to her was his own happiness. Like a good mother would have done, she only ever pushed him to make his own decisions, all the while teaching him the difference between right and wrong. He could proudly say that she raised him well.

He wanted to reach out, to embrace her and thank her for everything she had done for him. Words would fall short, proclamations mere grandiose displays of poetic intent that could never measure up to her worth. She told him once that actions spoke louder than words. So, with a little polite moderation, he set a loving arm around her shoulders as they walked. And when he did, the look they shared seemed to move her near to tears, and she smiled back at him.

* * *

><p>"…You're serious."<p>

It was a statement, not a question. Hawke may have had to lie in the past to save them from trouble, but her talent with persuasion never overshadowed her moral code. She never lied to her friends. And she was not one to exaggerate. With a heavy sigh she acknowledged her comrade with a half-expectancy.

Varric was never one for ostentatious displays of emotion. He took any and all words at face value, worked his inner turmoil out on his own. If he had a problem with someone, he told them. If something made him uncomfortable, he had no trouble voicing it. He was honest, but tactful. He stared at the ground beneath them with distant eyes. Perhaps the uneasiness in the air was not just her imagination.

"In any case," she resumed, eying her estate. "We'll keep a distant eye for any movement. If anyone means to threaten the Grand Cleric, they'll have to get past you, and then me." They had a plan. There was little sense in worrying over something they were already acting upon.

"I'll keep my keen ears to the ground," he assured her. "The others can find ways to make themselves useful as well," he chuckled. "Isabella has...a natural charm when it comes to rooting out schemes, and dealing with their plotters. Prince charming may be occupied for awhile, but at he'll least be easy to find."

She nodded slowly. Even to her own ears, her voice sounded far off. "…The Grand Cleric will be safe, especially with Sebastian there."

Even with Varric accompanying her, the stroll home felt rather lonely without him. The absent warmth of his hands and his lips was making her feel colder than usual in the mid-morning air. Maker, it was easy for her thoughts to sway when he was on her mind. A smile spread over her face and Hawke had to fight back the girly, bubbly laughter building in her throat. Even apart, he seemed to chase away the troubles in her mind.

"-Get your head out of the clouds, Hawke," Varric laughed when she shook her head. "My dwarven body can't reach that high to get your attention."

She grinned sheepishly as they approached her door.

"All wars and chaos aside," he addressed her quietly before they entered, a sincere smile playing across his face. "You seem happy, Hawke."

She paused, smiling softly down at him. "...I am."

Varric held the door open for her. When she stepped inside, she released the breath she didn't know she had been holding. It felt like the first time she had allowed herself to acknowledge it – but even with the delays in their plans, she truly was happy.

The warmth radiating from her fireplace reached her face, and a soft red blush crept across her cheeks. It felt good to admit it, she realized with a smile. Perhaps she was just afraid that if she told the world about her happiness, someone or something would come and take it away. The pitiful self-defenses she'd put up in her mind over the years were quite amusing now. When she had no obvious foes, it seemed she took the liberty of being her own worst enemy.

When she passed her foyer, she greeted her loyal workers with a gracious smile.

"Letters for you, miss."

"Thank you Bodhan." Hawke's light countenance faded almost instantly to a visible frown when her gaze drifted to her desk. "Maker, this stack would be visible from Lowtown."

Her leather boots clicked softly against the stone tiles on her floor. Brows furrowed, she studied the strewn contents with a sigh and began to sift her fingers through the piles. She was beyond grateful for the help – and more than grateful for the company – that Bodhan, Sandal, and Orana provided; but boy would it be nice to have a secretary.

She flipped through the scattered and folded pieces of parchment with an odd combination of vigor and laziness. One after another, the seals were torn and her eyes scanned the lines haphazardly, tossing a majority of the extravagantly prepared correspondences in a growing trash heap behind her. She figured the nobles would have gotten the message by now – she was _not_ attending any of their lavish and supercilious parties; _nor_ was she going to spare another glance to the letters of interest sent by mothers on behalf of their wealthy sons.

"Varric," she grumbled mid-crumpling, "I'm going to have to deal with more of these in Starkhaven, aren't I?"

Varric was mindlessly plucking at the strings on the lute resting near her fireplace. "I don't know," he chuckled. "Don't Starkhaven princes have their own assistants and advisors to take care of junk mail?"

"I sure hope so." She tossed another one over her shoulder without even bothering to open it. This woman had the audacity to assume – in her last letter – that Hawke could be bribed into marrying her son. "The nerve of these people…"

"Either that or prince-charming will have his hands full reading them himself," Varric chuckled to himself. "Signing official documents, passing laws and what-not…"

After storing away the last of the rewards she had been sent, she nodded triumphantly at her empty desk. Turning around, however, she let out a frustrated sigh when she stepped in the trash pile on the floor. "He's got more patience for this sort of thing." She knelt to clean it up, shooing away Orana with a gentle hand. "I'm more of a…hands-on type of person."

"I'm sure he prefers it that way," Varric waggled his eyebrows.

"Oh shut up."

Finally, her desk was clear. Rather happily, she threw the trash and remnants of the letters into the fireplace. In practiced movements, she rolled her neck and shoulders as she slumped down into her large chair. Varric moved to take a seat in the guest chair beside hers.

A chuckle quietly passed her lips when she stared down at the slumbering mabari, sprawled out in front of the fireplace. "Lovable oaf," she muttered.

"Begging your pardon for the intrusion…" Bodhan abruptly caught her attention, wringing his hands together as he looked between them.

Hawke turned slightly to acknowledge her dwarven servant, smiling warmly at his usual overabundance of manners. Varric simply shook his head and laughed.

"Permission to take your 'servant' out for a drink sometime. I think the man needs it."

She could not help but laugh at Bodhan's wide-eyed expression. It was hard to imagine him drunk. "Permission granted, and venture highly supported."

"Er… I, uh… If the misses insists," he stuttered awkwardly.

"On my orders," she laughed. "What was it that you needed, Bodhan?"

Bodhan straightened up and dug through his vest pocket. "I meant no bother," he announced, pulling out a sealed letter with his round, stubby fingers. "But this one was dropped off differently than the rest," he said. "The courier said it was urgent, and I told him you'd be back soon-"

"Does it say who it's from?" She gently took the letter from him, sitting forward in her chair with a raised brow.

"I don't rightly know, Messer." He stepped back to allow her the space she needed to read it, where Varric leaned forward in apparent interest. "I didn't want to pry, so I just kept it on my person until you would arrive."

"Thank you…" Her voice quieted as she tore the seal, her eyes narrowing at the familiar handwriting scrawled across the parchment.

_Champion,_

_You have proven yourself a friend to Kirkwall's mages and it seems I must call upon you once again. Meredith has gone too far, and I will not let her madness remain unchecked. I ask that you come to the Gallows at once. Perhaps together we can stop this before there is bloodshed._

_First Enchanter Orsino_

Her furrowed brow and pursed lips spoke only whispers of the disquiet screaming in her gut. Slowly, she folded the letter and handed it back to her quiet servant.

"Look after things, will you?"

Her voice was grave and serious, and all three of her servants, and her dog, silently watched as she stood and adjusted her armor and daggers.

"…Hawke?" Varric stood beside her.

She didn't spare him a glance as they promptly left her home. "Varric," she ordered quietly, "Get Aveline – and anyone else you find on the way – and meet me at the gallows."

* * *

><p>Varric, Aveline, and Merrill arrived only minutes behind her.<p>

"Isabella's gone to get Fenris," Varric informed her as they approached.

Aveline stepped forward, her fiery gaze dissecting the situation around them. She moved to address someone, to undoubtedly ask what was going on, but the look that Hawke shot them silenced any and all of their questions.  
>She herself barely understood, and had yet to even catch her breath.<p>

Meredith and Orsino stood, facing one another with a small army at their backs. The tension in the air was unbelievable, and Hawke took careful steps forward as her ears picked up on their heated quarrel.

"Do not trifle with me, mage," the Knight Commander sneered, staring down the First Enchanter. "My patience is at an end."

Orsino's lip curled as he scoffed. "A wonder that I never saw it begin!"

Hawke fought hard to quiet her fears. This was obviously nothing more than another row between the two. She watched Meredith's trademark frown deepen, noticed Orsino's defiant chin raise higher. She had only recently been granted the "privelage" to meet the Knight Commander. Orsino as well. For the past three years she'd been playing their errand boy, attempted to be 'peacekeeper' as she got to know the both of them, but it didn't take long before Hawke quickly decided that they were both lost causes, and irritatingly paranoid – Meredith more obviously so. She'd formed a single opinion in that time, and it had yet to change: These two were old, and they were set in their ways. Never in any of their dealings had she had any luck in convincing or dissuading one or the other to be reasonable, and she very much doubted she ever would.

Rolling her eyes, she approached the arguing pair with every intention to make them feel as stupid as they always looked. It was no wonder she felt for Elthina's position with such empathy, she realized. Dealing with Meredith and Orsino was like dealing with squabbling children. Wouldn't it have been funny if they were once lovers? Or was ironic the word? Maker, how her mind found ways to wander… '_Well, why not try the light-hearted approach? Maybe it will work this time.' _"The way you two argue…" she teased. "People will talk."

Meredith eyed the rogue with visible distaste. "This does not involve you, _champion_." She spat the word as if it were poison.

_'Or maybe not.'_

"_I _called her here," Orsino announced, arms crossed. "I think the people deserve to know just what you've done."

"What I've _done_," the Knight Commander rounded on him with a sneer. "Is protect this city, time and again. What I've _done_ is protect you mages from your curse and your own stupidity!" She turned back around to address Hawke and her companions. "And I will not stop doing it. I will not lower my guard, I dare not!"

Hawke's brow rose, and she met Meredith's heated gaze head-on. "Does the word 'crazy' mean anything to you?"

There was no point in holding back her opinions anymore, no point in forcing herself to be tactful. These arguments were ludicrous. This unrest was ludicrous! As hard as she tried to keep things bright and civil, her patience was rapidly dissolving. _This_ was the reason she was not already set off for Starkhaven. She blinked twice, realizing that Meredith was talking to her again. If she could simply punch the Knight Commander in the face and storm off, she would have gladly done so by now.

"…Tell me, Champion, that you have not seen with your own eyes what they can do, heard the lies of mages that seek power…"

"Maker's breath," Hawke groaned. Her hand twitched at her side. "_People_ seek power. Not every mage is the same."

Orsino stepped forward. "You would cast us all as villains," he pleaded, "but it is not so!"

"I know." The Knight Commander's sneer lessened somewhat, and Hawke eyes and ears perked with wary interest. This was the first time Meredith had ever shown signs of backing down. Perhaps…eventually, they really could find a reasonable, peaceful compromise. "It breaks my heart to do it," her piercing blue eyes met the First Enchanters and her voice darkened. "But we must be vigilant. If you cannot tell me another way, do not brand me a tyrant!"

Hawke sighed. '_Maker kill m_e.'

"This is getting us nowhere," Orsino huffed. He shook his head and moved to head up the stairs. "Grand Cleric Elthina will put a stop to this."

"You will _not_ bring her Grace into this!" the Knight Commander ordered, her templars right behind her.

Meredith grabbed his arm to turn him around and Hawke's hand flew to the hilt of her dagger.

"The Grand Cleric cannot help you!"

The sound of Anders' voice at her back pulled everyone's attention behind them. Immediately Hawke spun around the face her comrade, but the orders she had prepared to issue were silenced when his eyes flashed to hers. She hesitated for the briefest of moments, seeing the raw anger and intensity that was radiating off of him in waves. The Knight Commander rushed forward.

"Explain yourself, mage!"

"I will _not_ stand by and watch you treat all mages like criminals…" The First Enchanter moved forward, but Anders slammed his staff into the ground to silence them. "While those who would lead us _bow_ to their templar jailers."

"How dare you speak to-"

"The Circle has failed us, Orsino!" Anders shouted. "Even you should be able to see that."

Hawke's eyes widened at the flash in his eyes, his entire body glowing with the unnatural blue light of 'Justice.' The smell of singed fire and electricity reached her nose and she took two wary steps towards him, unsheathing one of her daggers.

"The time has come to act," he continued. He sounded like he was talking to himself now. "There can be no half-measures."

"Anders…" She took another step, swallowing the lump in her throat. "What have you done?" Her gut was churning, and her mind was screaming.

"There can be no turning back…" he uttered quietly, refusing to face her.

The ground began to rumble beneath their feet. Hawke turned confused and frantic eyes to her comrades, who could only mirror her expression. A thundering explosion sounded at her back, and she brought her wide-eyed gaze to the glowing beam of light rising from the Chantry; and time slowed to a painful halt.

All thought and feeling left her, and a whisper fell from her lips.

"Sebastian…"

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** _Sorry for the cliff-hanger... ^^ ...Not really. I needed to keep you all on your toes for the finale!  
><em>

_A final note on editing: I am done! After countless hours of reading, revising, editing, and indecision, I have finally reached a satisfied point where I can let it all go (and ignore the incessant OCD voices in my head warning me about things I might have missed).  
>I am done. No more going back. I apologize if I missed anything, or if some of my corrections were inconsistent; but I am putting my stamp of approval on this piece. I am tying up loose ends, sealing the package, and sending it off with a reminiscent tear in one eye. It is done. <em>

_And now... it can all come to an end. :)_


	15. The Last Straw, Part II

The cloudy sky began to part, the darkened masses swirling around the red column of light that penetrated the atmosphere. The roaring blast was deafening as pieces of the decimated Chantry rose and shot out in a radiating pulse across the city. Bits of rubble and debris fell around them, but Hawke did not move, did not even blink when one of them fell less than a foot away from where she stood – frozen in dread.

He hadn't come with her.

Sebastian had stayed…at the Chantry, to make sure Elthina was safe…

A whimper passed her quivering lips. A paralyzing numbness held her in place, while the rest of the world around her continued to fall apart. The towering structure once visible to all of Kirkwall was now a vacant and empty space, the charred remnants of its stone walls raining down upon the city and blanketing the streets and a cold and silent ash.

"Maker have mercy…" Meredith whispered.

Anders turned away then, eyes vacant and cast at the ground beneath his feet. "There can be no peace," he uttered.

'_Sebastian…'_ A strangled sob passed through her lips. All feeling leaving her, her legs buckled beneath her weight and she fell to the ground. '_No_…'

A dreadful cry rang out. The voice was not her own.

"No!"

Hawke whipped her head around, silent tears pouring from her hopeful eyes at the sound of his voice. The fear and expectancy that flooded her mind drained instantly when she saw him rush in, breathless and wide-eyed as he stared up at the Chantry ruins in horror.

The wave of relief nearly consumed her. Numb and listless, she could only blink back the tears in her eyes. A dull ache in her head slowly made itself known, throbbing painfully with each growing second of awareness. Isabella and Fenris were there, beside him, shocked and silent. They must have brought him on their way to meet them here…

"Elthina, no… Maker, no…" Illuminated by the glow of the fading explosion, he slumped to the ground and cried out. "She was your most faithful, your most beloved…" He hung his head, his voice shaken. "Why didn't she listen to me?"

After a moment he stood slowly, his face pained and unreadable. Everyone watched silently as he bowed his head and lifted his hand. "Blessed are the souls of the faithful that they ascend to Your right hand…"

None of this felt real.

He was alive. The Chantry was gone, but Sebastian was alive. The relief of his safety was waging war with the pain for his loss. Hawke stood and turned on trembling legs, wincing at the raw anguish in his voice. Seeing him like this… Seeing him at _all_…  
><em>Maker<em>...

She had almost lost him.

"Why?" Orsino shouted suddenly, turning to face Anders in sheer disbelief. Hawke's eyes moved with the First Enchanter's, staring blankly at her 'companion.' "Why would you do such a thing?" Orsino asked.

"I removed the chance of compromise," Anders answered slowly. "Because there _is_ no compromise."

"The Grand Cleric has been slain by magic," Meredith breathed. "The Chantry destroyed…"

Thought and clarity returned, gaining momentum with every passing moment. Rage and anger like she had never known began to curl her fingers, clench her hands into fists until her nails bit and punctured her skin.

"As Knight Commander of Kirkwall, I hereby invoke the Right of Annulment…"

This feud, this ridiculous _spat_ between mage and templar caused this devastation, caused everything… nearly took _everything_ away from her…

"Champion…"

Hawke's eyes closed briefly. The voices around her began to fade. The situation around her began to unravel into nothingness. All grew quiet, muted and dimmed in her mind. Her nerves were on fire, fingers twitching at her sides as she sought control over her movements and regained familiarity with each of her muscles. But these were all distant details now. Whispers in the back of her mind kept her grounded, reminded her that she was here – that this was all real. Yet all she knew in that moment, all she could _feel_, was the storm consuming her.

One by one her family had been ripped apart, taken away from her piece by piece until nothing was left but her guilt and sorrow. Year after year this city ate away at her resolve, clawing and wrenching at any happiness or hope she had found and dangling it above her head like it was a toy. She had nothing left to give, and there was nothing left to take… until Sebastian. And Anders had nearly succeeded in taking him away too.

Her eyes opened.

"You…"

She turned her poisonous gaze to Anders, ignoring the expectant faces of the Knight Commander and First Enchanter. The mages, the templars, all of Kirkwall – they could wait. The condemnation in her voice alone was ready to kill. Steeling her hardened eyes against his own, she whipped out her daggers. He made no move to react. That made things easier.

With deadly speed and dexterity, she lunged forward. A blood-curdling scream tore from her throat as her fist connected with his jaw in a sickening crack. He slumped to the ground, defeat written plainly in his eyes. He wanted this.

She did not hesitate when she plunged both daggers into his heart.

It would never be enough...

But it was a start.

* * *

><p>Sebastian watched her heaving shoulders with a combination of shock and cold resolution. The dull ache in his heart and mind quieted for the briefest of moments, and he could only stare blankly as Hawke fought to catch her breath.<p>

His approached with mindless steps. His appearance at her side seemed to momentarily silence her fury. The air around them drifted about, caused their scents to intermingle with the stench of death that clung to the air. From her crouched position on the ground, she retrieved her weapons and looked up at him.

Her eyes found his. In those green depths he found an indescribable calmness, and clung to it as though it were his lifeline. Beneath the icy blue of his hardened gaze was a pain and suffering that he was sure she could see. His gaze swept over the trail of stained tears on her cheeks. The slight turn of her brow spoke enough of her concern. Any words he wanted to say could not be expressed in that moment. Within their eyes, a powerful understanding passed between them.

Her gaze fell before she spoke, shattering the silence that had fallen around them. "I stand by my beliefs." She swallowed the lump in her throat. Her voice grew stronger as she stood, firm as her gaze when she faced Orsino and eyed the mages at his back. "One man's actions do not always reflect the views of others like him."

Meredith stepped forward at the sudden declaration. Not a word was said regarding the mage at their feet.

"Think carefully, _Champion_." The Knight Commander looked down upon her as she unsheathed her enormous blade. "If you stand with them-"

"I _know_ where I stand." Hawke stood defiant, daggers in hand as she moved in front of the mages. "_Against_ tyranny and discrimination."

There were no words in that moment. Hawke's six companions joined her side and readied their weapons.

The Knight Commander's voice was low and deadly. "Then you can all die with them."

But fighting was something Hawke knew all to well.

In a flash the war broke out – templar shields clashing with balls of fire. Orsino took the lead at the head of the mages and ordered them fall back to the Circle. The other mages would not know to defend themselves unless somebody told them.

Sebastian ducked beneath a wide arc of frost, blinking away the emotions that would only complicate this battle. In a flash he was ready, taking point near Merrill and Varric as the three of them began firing a mixture of storm and arrows upon their templar attackers.

Meredith sneered, narrowly dodging one of Varric's crossbow bolts. Sword at the ready, she barked an order to her knights.

"Back to the tower, all of you!" Rounding back on Hawke, she glared contemptuously at the Champion's choice of side. "We'll be ready," she warned.

The majority of the templars disappeared behind her, but Sebastian knew there would be more. The templar order made for a formidable foe. Despite his concerns, he held no qualms with Hawke's decision. Once again, personal justice had already been delivered for him. Although if he'd had the choice… he wouldn't have ended it so quickly.

He cursed his disrupting thoughts and emotions when the edge of a silverlite longsword slashed against his forearm. Grunting, his brow furrowed as he drew back the string of his bow. Beads of sweat trickled down his face at the strain on his wound, but his arrow found its target as it always did. The templar grasped helplessly at the protruding shaft from the eye slit of his helmet before crumpling to the ground. Using his foot, Sebastian wrenched the arrow free and took aim at his next target.

He hissed through clenched teeth as the gash on his drawing hand was pulled apart further. Amidst the shouting and chaos, he finally found Hawke, duel-wielding her blades with precision and graceful ferocity as one after another fell before her wrath. She turned a brief eye behind her, searching him out. He could see her brow knit with concern as she spotted the red droplets falling from his arm. Eyes narrowing at one of her pursuers, he deftly knocked another arrow and sent it flying behind her, where it landed with a squirt at the juncture of the templars' neck.

She swore under her breath as she spun back around to face the onslaught of unending knights. She seemed as distracted as he was. Fear for one another's safety was going to cost one of them dearly – as it almost did him. Glancing around at their dwindling numbers, he knew that this battle was far from over.

Would the mages truly be able to fight for their freedom? This war seemed a lost cause before it had truly began. Sebastian had never given much thought to mage's beyond what the Chantry had taught him. Now it seemed like a whole world of conflict had opened up before his eyes. It was hard to imagine what ripples these actions today would cause; but he could not believe that these cries would go unanswered. Would the world ever be the same after this? More importantly…

Would they be alive to see it?

He glanced between the fallen bodies of templars at their feet, to each of their comrades, from Merrill to the other mages fighting at their sides, and to Hawke – fighting for their freedom simply because it was the right thing to do…

"_This is the price we pay," _her voice echoed sadly in his mind_, "As Prince's and Champion's… _

A young girl, barely an apprentice it seemed, cowered beneath a risen templar blade. His arrow flew with pristine accuracy.

"_But we pay it with the hope of what peace our sacrifices will bring." _

The young girl blinked with wide and tearful eyes, looking back at him in awe and overpowering respite. The line between right and wrong had never before seemed so blurred and unfocused. What could he, a single man, do after today – do for these mages? Nodding slightly to him, she rubbed away her tears and stood to stand, to fight beside her people. A look of determination steeled her features, and Sebastian knew the answer to all of his questions.

Too often people have a choice to act, and instead choose to do nothing. In his own life, he had missed opportunities, allowed them to pass out of laziness, or fear… or both. He narrowed his eyes as he stood beside his comrades in battle, delivering arrow after arrow into a new line of soldiers. Between the ceaseless volleys, his eyes found Hawke. Watching her fight for them, for this city, watching her bleed because she must... She made these decisions every day.

She was a hero. And turmoil followed heroes wherever they went. Life would go on. It would give them trials to face and obstacles to overcome. And they would do it, because they must. And he would always be there to meet them at her side. All that she had given him, all that she had done…

He would do the same.

Meeting her granted him humility. Fighting at her side gave him strength. Loving her had given him purpose. Whether today in battle or in a year in Starkhaven, he would be ready – a Prince, a warrior, a brother of faith. Thanks to Hawke, he was ready.

There attacks melded together as one. Never in all their years of traveling had all of them been able to move as a single unit. In between spell casts, Merrill, Hawke, and Fenris drove the lines back with heavy offense. Offering support fire beside him was Varric, a smirk on his face as Bianca let loose bolt after bolt into unaware templars. Weaving between bodies and sliding between shadows, Isabella moved with the grace and dexterity of a master assassin, cloaked in broad daylight amidst the chaos while Aveline took up a defensive position to keep their attackers at bay. It wasn't just strategic brilliance; this was all of their friends moving together – fighting as one.

Sweeping each area they hastily cleared a path to the tower. The waves of enemies seemed limitless, but their numbers were no match for their willpower. Sweat poured, breathing was labored, and their injuries were many; but Hawke and her companions all moved in unified resolve. A decade of struggle and unrest had reached its climax, and each and every one of them was ready to unleash everything they had.

It wasn't long before desperation drove the mages to madness.

It wasn't long after before madness drove Meredith to possession and insanity.

It was sad to admit, but the ending almost seemed fitting. The respite at the end of everything was difficult to describe. Amidst the bodies, blood stains, rubble, and smoke, all anyone could feel was… alive. The aftershocks would come – they all knew it. But when remnants of the templar order moved again, it was only to find survivors.

What words could be said after what happened? What more could be said for the fallen – for Kirkwall?

Nothing more.

So much had been lost… But too often the paths before us are clouded by shadows of our past – making it difficult to see the beauty of the present.

A bright future, though, works well to light the way…

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **_As my story reaches its epilogue, I find myself feeling two things: _

_The first is respite – for the satisfaction of completion, and for the overall experience of writing this story._

_The second is gratitude – to all my readers, fans, and reviewers. You inspired my voice and fueled my motivation. And here, at the end, I feel I cannot quite thank you enough._

_I hope you all enjoyed my story. It's been about a year since I first started drafting the idea; and it's come a long way.  
>Read on for the happy ending we've all been craving. :)<em>


	16. Finding Home

The sun shone brightly outside the window. The rays of mid-morning spring were working well to warm the room, and the droplets of dew on the ivy leaves outside shimmered brightly beneath the glowing light. The cold in the air had disappeared fast – as was usual at this time of year. It was difficult to adjust to all the changes.  
>But the change was welcomed with open arms.<p>

The lively crowd in the courtyard below only heightened her growing anticipation, and with a steady breath, Mara Hawke turned around to face her reflection.

Her mouth fell open as a small gasp sounded over the faded echoes in the distance. Looking back at herself in the mirror, she ran slow, gentle fingers over the elegant lines of her dress. Her dark hair was pinned back in a soft bun, high on her head, with loose strands of curls falling to rest lightly across her exposed shoulders. Thick, dark lashes brushed softly against her cheeks as she studied the subtle blossom tint on her painted lips. Beneath her slender neck, intricate designs of ivory white hugged around her curvy figure, the skirts of her satin dress billowing out at her waist and falling in waves and ribbons at her feet. The brilliant shades only intensified the color of her eyes; and she blinked back at herself with an odd sense of pride and wonderment.

"I look..."

"Beautiful."

Hawke lifted careful hands to secure her veil in place, but Bethany's dainty fingers stopped her so that she could assume the task. When she finished, she brushed back a lock of her elder sister's hair and tucked a small white flower behind her ear.

Hawke blushed lightly, her eyes drifting away from her reflection to catch a bluebird flutter past her window. A breeze blew in, warm and welcoming, and she turned to face her sister with an affectionate smile. "I'm glad you could come."

Bethany returned the gesture. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

She looked down at herself and shook her head, chuckling when Bethany mirrored her actions. "Look at us… In _dresses_," she laughed.

"I do feel quite naked without Warden insignia's," she chuckled. "Or any metal or leather…"

Hawke smirked and looked around the room. "…Well, I wouldn't say _any_…" With a subtle hand, she lifted the skirts of her dress high enough to reveal the hidden dagger strapped to her calf.

Bethany's light brown eyes widened before meeting her sister's with a mischievous twinkle. "You too?" she asked, raising her own dress to reveal a serrated blade tucked into her boot.

"…What." Hawke grinned. "No staff?"

Bethany crossed her arms and shot her an incredulous look. "To a wedding?" she scoffed. "How crude."

Biting their lips did little stop their smiles from spreading; and the two girls burst into laughter. Regaining control of her breath, Hawke moved from the mirror over the open window, wiping an amused tear from the corner of her eye. Her green irises swept over the growing mass of guests below and she let out a nervous chuckle.

"I think half the population of the Free Marches is down there."

Small, delicate hands clasped gently around hers when Bethany came to join her at her side. "This is an important day."

Hawke nodded, a tender smile on her face. "Starkhaven's Prince has returned."

"But more than anyone, this is _your_ important day," Bethany's soft voice reminded her, giving her hand a light squeeze.

When their eyes met again, Hawke's smile began to fade. And Bethany held up a hand to halt her worrying train of thought.

"You don't need to worry about me," she smiled lightly, a blush of her own coloring her pale cheeks. "I travel in…good company."

Hawke's brow rose high then. "Well…" She paused, momentarily taken aback. "I will have to…meet him someday."

"Perhaps…"

A comfortable moment of silent passed. No more words were needed. The ease of one another's presence alone worked to bring a smile back to both their faces. This place, the beauty of the moment worked to soothe the weight in their minds they shared. The faded voices and distant laughter brought them back to their reality; and they shared a knowing, loving embrace. Words would never be enough.

Bethany stole a glance out the window and pulled back. "I think the crowd is getting restless. You don't want to keep your groom waiting too long."

Hawke chuckled, mostly to herself, when her eyes scanned the faces below. "Trust me – he can stand the wait." She picked up the front her dress and moved towards the doorway with a bounce to her step, stopping to turn and face her sister with a smile that lit up her face. "See you downstairs?"

Bethany simply smiled back and nodded.

And Mara returned the gesture, her loose curls blowing gently behind her as she disappeared past the door. A smile graced Bethany's lips as she turned to stare back out the window, admiring the surrealism of her sister's new home with an uplifting sense of joy. She deserved this. Her curious eyes searched out her sister's 'Prince.' When she found him, waiting patiently for his bride, her brow rose ever so slightly.

"Sister, you lucky bitch…"

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**_ The end. :)_


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